Blood Is Sometimes Thicker Than Water
by MaggieX
Summary: Its almost a quarter of a century from now; Mulder and Scully are married with a grown daughter who is home from her medical residency with a startling surprise. Mulder and Scully aren't the only ones with progeny in this story - Krycek's son with Marita
1.

There wasn't much that worried Special Agent Dana S. Mulder (retired). She had lived through much more than people with a good twenty or so years on her. She had seen the death of close family members; survived a terminal illness; faced the prospect of single parenthood and lost the love of her life more than twice. Dana Katherine Scully-now-Mulder did not worry much. She hadn't had to in a long while. But now, she worried about her daughter. Meena had come home for the holidays extraordinarily tired and very fatigued. It was the first thing her mother and father noticed. Her father said, "it must be the internship," but Scully couldn't help but think it was something else. She knew. Whether it was a mother's intuition or something else, she knew. 

Scully was making Meena's favorite breakfast when she came downstairs. A normally striking and beautiful young woman, Melissa Whilemina Mulder could have passed as a poster child for the green of face and queasy of stomach. She looked like One-hour-old toast - limp, flaccid and completely unappealing. Scully brushed aside her concerns in an effort to try and give her daughter a warm welcome. "Good Morning, sweetheart! Did you sleep well?" Meena glossed over her answer. "Yeah. I had a really rough night on rotation, so I didn't get to bed until three a.m. I only got three hours until I had to go to the airport."

Scully remembered the difficulty of her first year as a resident. The fact that her daughter was serving her residency in one of New Orleans's most demanding hospitals only added to her concern. "I guess it's jet lag," Meena replied. "Could be," answered her mother. 

Scully instinctively knew that a one hour time change from New Orleans, Louisiana to Georgetown wouldn't have this effect on her daughter. 

"Well, I hope you're not too tired for breakfast," Scully said. "I've made all of your favorites. Pancakes with blueberries from the Maine harvest, Virginia Sausage, and an extra helping of whipped cream if you want it." 

Scully wasn't prepared for what would happen next. 

Scully's husband entered the kitchen with the usual boundless energy he had whenever his daughter was home. "Hello, sweetness, " he said as he kissed his wife. Then, in one swift and sudden movement, he picked up his daughter and whirled her around the kitchen. "Hello, Daddy's little girl!" Mulder exclaimed in a fit of parental exuberance. "And how is the world's best resident today?" 

Scully watched what she was certain would be her daughter fainting dead away. 

Meena buried her head in her father's chest. Her father, sensing something was wrong, immediately put her down. He took her face in his hands. "Hey, kid; what's wrong?" he asked, searching her face for a sign. "Nothing, Daddy; I'm fine," Meena replied. "I'm just very tired - that's all." "Can Doctor Mom be the judge of that?" asked Scully, walking around the cooking island to touch her daughter's forehead. Meena feebly tried to brush away her mother's hand, but Scully was insistent." "You feel a little warm. That's more than a professional opinion, Dr. Mulder..." 

"You worry too much, Mom" Meena replied. "I'll just go splash some water on my face." She turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway. "Really, you guys. I'm ok. So enough with the faces already." 

Mulder waited until his daughter left the room before he turned to his wife. "I don't buy it, Scully," he said. "I'd be surprised if you did, Mulder." "Could it be a flu bug? She's around germs all day. I wouldn't be surprised if she picked something up..." "Not at this point of her residency," Scully replied. "She should be building up a tolerance to casual infections. Besides, I can't imagine her not getting a flu shot. It's something else, Mulder." 

Mulder and Scully looked at each other for a moment, each trying to read the other's face for an answer, a clue as to what was wrong with their child. Could they be over-reacting? Possibly. But they both knew that answer that seemed the least plausible was always the answer they got. 

"Maybe I should go check on her..." Mulder began. "No, I better go," Scully answered. She called to her husband over the shoulder. "You know, you could make yourself useful by flippin' a stack of flapjacks." Mulder smiled. "You mean, in addition to being ornamental?" he replied. "Never said there was anything wrong with that," replied Scully as she left. 

Scully made her way out into the foyer, her mind spinning with worries and concerns. She was a mother, if she was anything at all, and she fully embraced the adage that mothers were allowed to worry. She had waited too long for this child and gone through too much not to. This child was a piece of her soul and of her husband's, and would be no matter how old or grown-up she was. 

Scully started to go upstairs to Meena's room, but something told her to look down the hallway to the downstairs powder room. When she did, Scully noticed the door was ajar, and the light was on. "Meena," Scully called, "You ok sweetheart?" 

Scully did not hear an answer. 

Her pace quickened as she rushed to the door. She half pushed-half knocked on the door. Meena, are you allright?" Scully pushed the door open with difficulty. She looked down, and in that instant, her heart stopped. 

"Mulder? MULDER. I NEED YOU! NOW!" 

***********************************************************

Mulder moved quickly, but the faster he moved, the slower time seemed to respond. The door to the powder room where his life lay on cold, hard tile stretched further and further from his grasp. "Please God, please," he begged. "Not this. Not now." 

"Not again." 

He made it to the powder room, where Scully sat on the floor, cradling their daughter's head in her lap. "My bag; did you bring my bag, Mulder? I need my bag." "It's right here." Mulder handed his wife her medical bag, and began to call 911. Before he could finish dialing, his daughter came to. 

"Mommie...? What happened? How did I get here...?" "Shhh..." Scully replied. "I want you to be quiet, ok? I'm going to check you out and make sure everything's alright..." 

Meena rolled her head over to gaze into her father's eyes. The look of concern and worry was too much for her to bear. Suddenly, she began to cry. "Sweetheart, what is it?" Scully asked as she embraced her daughter. Meena's hand reached for her father's and Mulder encircled the two most important women in his life in a tight embrace. 

"Mommie... Daddy..." Meena sobbed. Mulder kissed the top of his daughter's head. Sweetheart, whatever it is, what ever is the matter, it will be alright. I promise. We'll do anything we have to to make it so. That's a promise." 

Meena pulled back from their embrace and hurriedly wiped her eyes. "I don't think you can, Daddy. I don't know if anything can fix this." "Fix what, sweetheart?" Scully asked. Scully looked deep into her daughter's eyes and suddenly, she knew. She looked at her husband, and she and Mulder each took their daughter by the hand. 

Meena took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant. And I don't know who the father is. But the worse part is, I don't know how it happened. Or when." 

********************************************************

Mulder, Scully and Meena sat around the kitchen table. Meena warmed her hands over the cup of Chamomile tea her father had made. Her mother gently pushed the piece of toast she had made for her daughter, in an effort to get her to eat. "Sweetie, I've been through this before. You passed out because you hadn't eaten. You have to keep something in your stomach." Meena took a small bite of her toast, and sat it down. 

"How did this happen?" Mulder asked gently. "Can you remember anything at all?" Meena shook her head. "How far along are you?" Scully asked. Meena paused for a moment. "That's the thing that's so confusing," she replied. "The tests keep saying that I'm twelve weeks, but that can't be right. I wasn't.... I wasn't with anybody at the time I would have had to conceive." Meena looked at her parents. "Not to be blunt, but it's true. I just don't

have time - not with my residency." 

"Alright, " Mulder asked, "did you have any gaps in your memory, any strange blackouts... anything like that?" "I don't think so," Meena replied. "Think back over the past twelve weeks," Scully asked. "Did you have a change in your routine, go anywhere different..." "No.." Meena thought. "The only thing I can think of is... The hospital asked me to go to a

conference in Arlington. It was such a quick trip I didn't tell you guys I was going to be here. I was just going to the conference and back to New Orleans the next day in time for my shift. There were twenty doctors from all over the country there to study multiple identical births and their similarities and anomalies. We met, and then we went to the airport." 

"Which one?" Mulder asked. "BWI. We missed the flight out of Dulles, so they figured it would be faster for us to connect in Baltimore. The conference arrange for two vans to take ten people each to the airport. Then we got on the plane." 

Scully paused. "Did you sleep on the ride down?" "No," Meena replied. "Strangely enough, I wasn't tired. In fact, we had a pretty animated conversation in the van about the conference...." Meena stopped. "What is it?" asked Mulder. "It's just... I was having this conversation with this guy; a doctor from New York City. I do remember him, but I don't remember what he said. At all. And there was something else. My watch stopped. The one

you and Mom gave me when I graduated. I didn't notice it until I got on the plane." 

*****************************************************************

Mulder could see the clock switch from 3:29 am to 3:30 as he held his wife. Her slow, even breathing suggested that she was in throes of a deep sleep. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. Scully stirred, and Mulder bent down to graze the top of her head with his lips. "Did I wake you?" He whispered. "No, " Scully replied, "there's no chance of that tonight." Scully rolled over onto her back to look at the clock; Mulder shifted his weight so that he could cradle Scully in the crook of his arm. "What are we looking at here, Scully?" Mulder asked. "You know what we're looking at Mulder. As much as we don't want to admit this... We can't rule out the inevitability that we're talking about a criminal act. An act committed against our daughter's will and without her knowledge." "Agreed," Mulder replied, "to a point..." Scully raised herself up on her elbow to face Mulder. "To a point? Mulder, what are you saying?! Look at the evidence." "I am Scully; but the evidence doesn't lead where you think..." "And just where is that Mulder?" 

Scully knew where he was going before she finished her question. "You think it was an alien abduction. You think this is an X-File. You think our daughter's pregnancy is an X-File!" Scully sat up in their bed. "I can't believe you, Mulder..." 

"Look at the facts, Scully. Meena is twelve weeks pregnant, and doesn't know how it happened. She's missing time. There are gaps in her memory. Our daughter by the very nature of her birth IS an X-File, Scully. There's no other explanation." 

"There's always another explanation Mulder - it's just never the one you take..." 

Mulder and Scully stopped in mid sentence as a light shone through the bottom of their bedroom door. They heard Meena walk through the hallway, and go into the bathroom. They waited until she left the bathroom and went back to bed before they continued. 

"So this is an X-File, Mulder. An X-File. Do you know the last time we were involved in an X-File? When you disappeared. When Meena was born. The X-Files have been closed for twenty-three years, Mulder. How would we investigate this if it is an X-File?" 

"I'll find a way," Mulder replied. "Count on it."


	2. 

It was true in every sense of the word. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Mulder and Scully walked up the steps to the FBI building. Although they now had to get visitor badges, it was as if they were still on duty and had never left. The halls were still the same, even though the people in them may not have been. The two former agents half expected to see Agent Pendrell round the corner and go into the lab. The hallway was littered with the ghosts of their collective past. 

Mulder and Scully made their way into AD Skinner's office. Nothing had changed, except the current Assistant Director. Walter S. Skinner, their boss, sometimes nemesis and ultimate ally had retired to a sunny life on the Florida gulf coast. His son, Walter Skinner, Jr. now held the same post as his father. His meteoric rise to his position was something of a legend in the bureau, and seconded only by the rise of the two agents in his office. 

"Agents Mulder and Scully; please have a seat." Skinner's son motioned for them to sit on the finely appointed couch in his office. "It's not every day you have two legends in your office," he replied The two former agents smiled at the thought, finding the whole thing bordering on the absurd. "How's your father?" Mulder asked. "Dad's great. Gets in a lot of marlin fishing, golfs every other day - if not every day - and still runs four miles a day. Life's pretty good." "If you speak to your dad, please give him our regards," Scully remarked.

"Of course," Skinner Jr. replied. 

"Thank you for seeing us today, " Mulder began. "We really don't want to take up much of your time, so we'll try to be brief. Our situation and association with the Bureau was.... unique at best. I'm sure you're aware of that." The young AD nodded his head. "And the X-Files was a branch, albeit unofficial in its early stages, that wasn't like any other office." 

"Yes, I am aware of that. I have the official records on the X-Files, records that I have reviewed in advance of this meeting, and I know what my father told me about the X-Files and his connection to them when he knew I would assume his post. How can I help you today?" 

Mulder paused. "As I, as we both understand it, the X-Files and their investigative functions were shut down, but not officially sealed." "It is our understanding after doing our own investigation," Scully added, "that the files could be re-opened at any time." "And should the need be deemed appropriate, and the files were re-opened," continued Mulder, "that we could request to return to active duty." 

The younger Skinner sat back in his seat. "Well, " he mused, "I have to be honest with you. I really wasn't expecting this at all. I don't doubt your abilities, Agents, but not to be indelicate... It has been almost a quarter of a century, has it not? And, as I understand it... The two of you were very intimately and closely involved with that last X-File case." "That's true, " Scully replied. "It involved, as you well may know, Agent Mulder's disappearance and my efforts to locate him after his abduction during an investigation. How ever intimately we may have been involved and regardless of our relationship now, it was an official bureau investigation. An investigation as you can see that had very successful results" "And the

reason why you want to reopen the X-Files....?" Skinner began. "We have reason to believe that a young woman is the unwilling victim of an abduction and an experiment that took place without her knowledge," Mulder replied. "Why not let the authorities handle it?" asked the young director. "We believe the authorities don't have the resources to appropriately investigate and evaluate the case," Mulder replied. "And is there anything else?" Skinner asked. "You should probably know the person in question is our daughter." 

The young Assistant Director took a minute before he spoke. "It goes without saying that I am so sorry to hear about this. Please be assured that you have my utmost sympathy regarding this matter. But I'm sure you understand that I cannot re-open the X-Files based on this information. I don't mean to be callous, but... This boils down to a family issue - not a bureau concern." "I began my work in X-Files based on a family issue - my sister's disappearance," Mulder answered. "I hate to say this, but I thought we had a different understanding "And I'm well aware of that," Skinner replied. "But the bureau is a different place now. And it's not that I don't want to help you. I'm aware of your relationship with my father, but he could help you. I can't." 

Walter S. Skinner, Jr. rose from his seat. "I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. But I cannot help you." Skinner, Jr. crossed over to his desk. "Thank you for stopping by. I'll tell my Dad you send your regards..." "It's a shame that's the only thing you'll tell your father..." Mulder began. "Mulder; let's go." Scully took Mulder's arm and with a firm and gentle hand, led her husband out of the office. 

The young Assistant Director rested his elbows on his desk, and placed his face in his hands. As he did so, he could hear a door open at the other end of his office. "I hope you realize what I just did, "the young Skinner said, never looking up from his desk. He did not see the thin plume of blue smoke that filled the air. "oh, I am well aware of what you just did, young mister Skinner. You behaved exactly as I'd instructed you to. And, as it is my prerogative, I've changed my mind." 

Walter S. Skinner, Jr., the youngest Assistant Director ever in his post, looked over towards the voice. The voice was in shadow; the only thing confirming that anyone was there was the orange glow of a lit cigarette. 

"Re-open the X-Files. Make it work. Make it happen. And make up any excuse you need to to justify your decision." The red-hot ember glowed in the shadow. "I don't need to remind you of how you came to these offices, young mister Skinner.... Or how you rose to your current station." 

"Make it happen. Now." 


	3. 

It was the best Meena had felt in weeks, and certainly better than she had felt twenty-four hours ago. It was as if she had never had morning sickness at all. She was full of energy, bounding out of the bed to greet the new day. 

She saw all the signs she viewed in her patients at the hospital as she stepped into the shower. Her hair gleamed; her skin glowed with an iridescence unlike she had ever seen. She hadn't thought she was showing, but she could not button the fly to the five pocket jeans she had worn just two days ago. She settled on a dark brown skirt with an elastic waist and a warm cable-knit sweater when she went back to her room. 

Meena made her way downstairs to the kitchen, fully expecting to see her parents at the breakfast table. She was a little disappointed when she didn't hear her parents familiar banter, and saw the covered plate on the kitchen island. "Your Mom and I had some errands to run this morning," The note said. "I know you might not feel well, but try to eat some of this. Love, Dad." Meena smiled at the next line. "PS - I've got War of The Worlds for later on. Date? We'll see you soon." 

Meena had no problems finishing the half of a cantaloupe left for her consumption; she also made short work of the blueberries. Still ravenously hungry, she raided the fridge to find orange juice, a couple of cold chicken drumsticks, and a blueberry muffin. Still not satisfied, she eyed the breadbox, and wondered how wheat toast would taste heaped with vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup... 

Meena laughed out loud at the thought. She had heard all of the stories from all the expectant mothers she had cared for. The ravenous appetite; the strange cravings. And then, later on, the feeling of new life growing day by day. And it was all true. She could feel this being growing inside her, second by second; minute by minute. She wondered if it was like this for her mother. 

"OK girlfriend, " she thought. "Pace yourself, or you're going to be the size of this house." She settled on another large glass of milk, and sat down to read the newspaper. Just as she opened the paper, the phone rang. In an effort to reach the phone without having to leave her seat, she leaned over and reached for the wall. 

She didn't make it. And neither did the glass of milk. 

Meena stood up, and got to the phone before the machine picked up. "Hello? I'm sorry - can you hold on for a minute?" Meena sat the cordless phone down on the counter, and hurriedly cleared away the wet newspaper. "I'll go out and get one later," she thought. 

Meena never saw the headline and the story on the second page. 

"Hello, sorry to keep you holding," Meena replied. "Can I help you?" 

"Is doctor Mulder there?" asked the man on the other end. There was something vaguely familiar about the voice, but Meena immediately dismissed it. "I'm sorry - my mother's out on an errand. If this is an emergency, I can page her..." 

"No, I'm sorry - I meant to speak with Dr. M.W. Mulder." 

Meena paused for a second. She didn't know why. "This is she." 

"Dr. Mulder, you may not remember me, but we met at a conference recently... The Janus conference in Arlington a couple of weeks back..." 

Meena hesitated again, and again she couldn't figure out why. Then suddenly, an image flashed before her eyes - but it was so quick and fleeting... 

"Are you there Doctor Mulder?" asked the voice on the other end. 

"Yes, yes I am. How did you get this number?"

"Dr. Mulder, I hate to bother you at home, but I have some important information about the conference. It's an observation I've made and a theory at best, but.... I need to sound this out." "Go ahead, " Meena replied. "I'd rather not over the phone," the voice replied. "I can arrange to meet you.." "I'm not comfortable with that," Meena immediately replied. "Dr. Mulder... I

can assure you this is information that you will want, if not need to hear. We can meet at a place of your choosing. But I must meet with you." "I think I need to know who you are," Meena replied. There was a pause on the other end. "Either you tell me now," Meena demanded, "Or this conversation is over." 

"Andrew," The voice replied, "Doctor Andrew Covington." 

*********************************************

The Arlington Lakes mall bustled with the hurry of holiday shoppers. People rushed from store to store, looking for bargains if not for the perfect gift. The holiday display ranged anywhere from tasteful to downright tacky, all in an effort to get shoppers to part with their money. 

Meena stood next to a bench in front of the fountain in center court. She scanned the crowd for the person she had finally agreed to meet -- even if she was meeting him against her better judgment. There was no sign of him, even after twenty minutes. "Women disappear every day by doing things just like this," she thought. Women whose sad tales of their unfortunate demise ended up on the 11'o clock news and whose families never saw them again. "You have got to be out of your mind, " she thought. She looked at her watch, and made a silent agreement to leave in five minutes. Or maybe ten. Even with all her fear and trepidation, she could not bring herself to walk away. There was something that drew her there, something that kept her there. 

The possibility, no matter how remote, that she would get some answers. 

She did not expect the person she was waiting for to appear from the direction he did, and she turned to face him just as he was about to tap her on the shoulder. "Dr. Mulder?" he asked. Once she saw her impromptu appointment, she remembered who he was. The good doctor was strikingly handsome with wavy, dark hair and chiseled features. But the thing she noticed the most was his striking blue eyes. The color of brilliantly blue sapphires, they seemed to stare straight through to her soul. 

He extended his hand in a handshake. "Dr. Andrew Covington. Thank you for meeting with me." Meena nodded a welcome. "I know that this is a little unorthodox, but..." 

Meena was able to pry herself from his handshake and his gaze, and immediately took charge. "Dr. Covington, I feel it only fair to say this to you now before we go any further. I have a date with my father and mother which I have every intention of keeping. You should know that both of them are ex Federal agents who are still licensed to carry firearms. You should also probably know that both my uncle and Godfather are retired military. If

I don't come home and/or come home with as much as a broken nail, they will hunt you down like a rabid dog in the night." She motioned to a little girl who was eating an ice cream cone a few feet away. "You have as long as it takes for her to finish eating that to tell me what you have to say." 

Doctor Covington motioned for her to sit down. She did, and he took his seat. "As you know, " he began, "we were part of a group of doctors invited by Janus biomedical research to participate in a conference on multiple births, more specifically, the anomalies and similarities that can surround births of this nature." Meena nodded her head in agreement. "There were twenty male participants and twenty female," he continued. Meena motioned to the little girl and her ice cream cone. "She looks like she's a hungry little camper, Dr. Covington, "Meena said, "I suggest you skip a couple of pages." 

"Shortly, very shortly after the conference, I began to notice things. I began to have severe headaches that were preceded by brilliant flashes of light.." "Sounds like a simple migraine diagnosis, " Meena replied. "Unfortunate, but not out of the ordinary." "That's not all doctor," he continued. "At the height of these headaches, I would see flashes of... images. Of a room... lights... shadows of people." 

Meena's heart stopped cold. 

"I began to call other participants in the conference, " Dr. Covington continued. "I began with the males to see if any of them had experienced the same symptoms. They had." 

Meena's head began to spin. She looked anywhere, everywhere for an escape. She looked to her left; the little girl had reached the very end of her ice cream cone. Here was her out. 

Meena stood up. "This conversation is over. I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about..." "I think you do," interrupted Covington. "I have known you all of the eight hours we spent at the conference and I'm not even including this conversation," Meena snapped. "Don't dare presume to make judgments about what I know or don't." 

Meena turned to leave. "How far along are you, Dr. Mulder? You're pregnant, aren't you?" 

"How dare you?!," Meena began, "And you weren't before the conference, were you?" Covington continued. "In fact, I'd venture to say that all of your tests have come back saying you're farther along than you thought." 

Meena stared in amazement at Doctor Covington. "I'm halfway through my calls to the women who were at the conference. The ones that would answer have all reported the same thing." Meena sat down in disbelief. "There are other women...?" she began. "It goes without saying that we are the victims of something that took place during that conference," Covington replied. "And I want answers. I suspect you do as well." 

Doctor Covington reached into his jacket, and pulled out two tickets. "There is a Doctor Allison Broadstreet in Atlanta who was at the conference. She's agreed to meet with me; with us to tell her story. I took the liberty of buying you a ticket, Dr. Mulder." 


	4. 

"Eleven Fifty-Nine A.M." intoned the mechanical voice just before the beep. 

"Hi guys, it's Meena. Something came up; I have to go run a quick errand. I'm OK, so I don't want you to worry.... Don't wait dinner for me. I promise I'll be back for our date.... I love you. Be back soon." 

Frohicke pressed the "pause" button on the mini-compact CMP3 player, and hit the "back" button. The five people listened to the message several times in an effort to figure out what had happened. 

Meena never made it back for he date with her parents. It had been fourteen hours since she left her message. 

The Lone Gunmen, Mulder and Scully had assembled in the subterranean bunker that hid sequestered under the rec room at Beyer's house. Byer's wife knew nothing about the little "hobby" that took up so much of her husband's time... Only that he spent most of it in the rec room with his two nice (but odd and strange) friends. Outfitted with the very latest in twenty-first century technology, the only people who knew of the room under the room were the five people hidden in it. 

"I knew the X-Files would be re-opened someday, and I suspected that one day, we would need to assemble the old gang," Frohicke commented, "but I never thought it would be for something like this. I remember that little chickadee when she was no bigger than a pause at the end of sentence," he waxed. "Let's not start talking about her in the past tense yet," interrupted Langly. "Much obliged, gentlemen," Scully quietly replied. Frohicke looked sheepishly at Scully. "My apologies...." 

"OK, guys; what have you got?" asked Mulder. The Lone Gunmen sprang into action. "We were able to apply a series of filters to the message CD, in an effort to get a location where Meena was when she phoned," Langly began. "We immediately picked up a lot of background noises, so our first theory was that she was in a park or large meeting place." "We did not hear too many nature sounds - in fact, not any at all, so the park's out,"

Frohicke added. "Well, that only stands to reason, Einstein," quipped Langly. "Unless you've got nature piped in, the only way to get sounds of nature is to be in nature." "Your grasp of the obvious is uncanny," Forhicke began. "Can we go on, ladies?" asked Scully. The investigation continued. 

"We figured out that she was phoning from the mall, and we were able to trace the call through cell phone records to the Arlington Lakes Mall..." Langly hesitated. "What is it, fellas?" Mulder pushed. Frohicke continued. "You may want to sit down for this," he began. Scully locked the Lone Gunman in a steady gaze. "No. I can take this. Tell me. Just tell me." 

Byers turned on the 19 inch TV monitor on the counter. "We were able to intercept transmissions from the mall security cameras at Arlington Lakes Mall and download them on tape. Antiquated, I know, but sometimes the old way works the best. It appears that Meena made an appointment to see this man here." Byers froze the tape so Meena's parents could see. 

It was as if they had seen the dead come back to life before their eyes. 

"Kryceck?!" 

Mulder and Scully stared at the screen in horror and disbelief. "That can't be him," Scully said. "He's the same age as we are, if he's still alive. That is not a man in his early sixties or even his late fifties. There has to be some mistake." 

Frohicke paused. "Not if it's his son. And we have good reason to believe that it is." 

It took a while for the news to set in. "Well, I guess this just proves that even the lowest life forms possess the innate need to procreate," Mulder replied. "And you're absolutely sure that this is Krycek's son," asked Scully. Byers nodded. "Yes, we have every reason to believe it is." "How?" asked Mulder. "Are we talking about the normal way, or single-cell, amoebic subdivision?" "Your standard, 'birds-do-it-bees-do-it' as referred to by the Noel Coward ditty," replied Frohicke. 

Langly jumped into the conversation. "As we all know, once upon a time, there was a less than trustworthy ice princess named Marita and a low-life we all know and hate called Krycek. These two boils on the hindquarters of humanity worked very closely together to wreak whatever havoc they could; worked so closely, in fact that they often had an on-again, off-again relationship. It was during an 'on-again' phase that the beautiful..." "...But not as lovely as the enigmatic Dr. Scully-Mulder," interjected Forhicke. "She's married, moron;" replied Langly, "notice the ever present husband in the room..." "She's married, yes, but flattered nonetheless," Scully replied. Frohicke smiled.... 

"Fellas? The story...?" Mulder began. "Right," Frohicke replied. He continued where Langly left off. "It was during the 'on-again' phase that Marita discovered that she was pregnant. One could say that she had a change of heart of the kind that effects expectant mothers. She was hit by an overwhelming sense of parental responsibility, and decided to disassociate herself with all things evil, up to and including the baby's father." 

"And was she successful?" asked Scully. "She gave it the old college try," replied Byers. "As you may recall, she went missing three months after Mulder's disappearance." Scully nodded. "She changed her name to Mary Conners," Byers continued, "and settled outside of Manhattan near Nyack. She gave birth to a healthy, 8 pound, five ounce baby boy around the time Mulder came back, and Scully gave birth to Meena." 

"You know, if we didn't have the DNA tests to prove it, things might look a fishy for your husband over there," Frohicke joked. "Just kidding, Mulder. We know you better than that." "But that still doesn't explain who the baby's parent's are," said Mulder. "It doesn't prove that Marita Covarubius is the mother." "We have Marita's death certificate, which is dated shortly after her baby was born." "She died from complications suffered in childbirth?" asked Scully quietly. "That's what's listed on the death certificate," Langley replied, "But we think that was the only way the doctors could explain her demise." "We tracked down all the records of suspicious deaths attributed to childbirth that happened in the past 25 years," Byers continued. "One stood out in particular at a woman's hospital on Long Island. The birth was seemingly normal, but shortly after delivery, the mother developed a very high fever and went into convulsions. The attending OB-Gyn's thought that it was sepsis, and immediately administered antibiotics, but it was too late. One of the abnormal factors in this death was the oily film that covered the body shortly after death, and the presence of a dense, black film over the iris, cornea and pupils of the deceased..." 

"The black oil," said Mulder. "But she was vaccinated," Scully replied, "She received the same vaccination I did when Mulder found me in the Antarctic." "As you may remember, they developed the vaccine you received by using several strains of it on Marita Covarubius," replied Byers. "The final strain of the vaccine you received was perfected in the lab. She died as a result of an injection from one of the earlier test trials. In light of the many times they injected her, I'm surprised she didn't succumb before she did." 

"So what happened to the child?" Mulder asked. "Marita, or Mary Conners as she was listed on the child's birth certificate, did not list any next of kin," Frohicke replied. "The child was slated to be turned over to DYFUS when a 'Father McManhoman' from Saint Ambrose's Child services came to the hospital claiming to be a representative for the child and the child's mother. He must have presented the right papers and credentials, because the child was released into his custody." "And was there really a Father McManhoman of Saint Ambrose's Child services?" asked Scully, "or do we already know the answer to this one?" 

"So I'm asking again," replied Mulder, "What happened to Krycek's son?" "We can accurately state that the child was placed with a family back in Nyack, a Janet and Robert Covington," Byers replied. "The last accurate record we have is of an Andrew Covington being registered at RFK elementary. And that's where the trail ends." 

"There is one more thing you should know," Frohike quietly replied. He picked up yesterday's newspaper, and handed to Scully. "Look at the second page, third column on the right." 

Scully read aloud. "Chief Resident Missing From New York Hospital." She paused. "Scully, what is it?" asked Mulder. "Chief Resident in Neo-natology, Dr. Andrew Covington, was reported missing after he did not show up for his scheduled pediatric rotation," Scully read. "Hospital authorities became suspicious after they had not heard from Dr. Covington for over thirty hours. Police are requesting that anyone who sees a man who looks like the one in this photograph contact the police immediately." 

Scully placed the newspaper on the counter. Everyone gathered around it and looked at the picture. 

The man in the newspaper was a dead ringer for the one on the mall surveillance tape. 


	5. Now Boarding Gate Twelve

The only way Meena would agree to the Atlanta trip was if they took separate modes of transportation to and from the airport. Meena decided not to go home to pack; after all it was early enough in the day for her to fully expect she would be back in Georgetown before day's end. Late, true, but well before her parents had time to worry. Meena took a cab to Dulles, while Dr. Covington took his rental car. The only thing she could not control was where they would sit. The plane was crowded, and she was forced to keep her seat next to a man she didn't know, and didn't yet know if she could trust. In an effort to keep unnecessary conversation between them at a minimum, Meena leaned her head against the window and feigned sleep. 

The visions finally began when she actually did.

The room was all white and bright with chrome and dark with voices she did not recognize. She didn't know how she got there. She was in the middle of a sentence on how proper nutrition was still the key to preventing a wide array of birth defects during pregnancy with the handsome doctor next to her when suddenly....

..She was on a table. 

Her nose itched. She raised her hand to scratch it when suddenly, she couldn't. She tried to move her legs, but they, too, were frozen into place. Her head was the only thing that wasn't tied down, and she rolled it to her left to try and see where she was. When she did, she stared straight into the deep, deep blue eyes of the man next to her. The man she had been talking with. 

He was saying something, but she couldn't hear him. She began to ask him what he was trying to tell her, when her head was violently straightened and strapped to the cold metal table. In an instant, she felt herself being turned on end, upside down. At some point, she could see that her companion suffered the same fate but in the opposite direction.

When their eyes met, they could both see the fear in each other's faces.

Meena awoke suddenly, trying to adjust to her current surroundings. Her traveling companion leaned towards her to check on her condition. "Are you alright?" he asked. Meena nodded. "Sure, yeah. I'm fine." "How long has it been since you last ate?' asked Dr. Covington.' "I'm fine," Meena insisted. A flight attendant walked passed them. Andrew stopped him in his tracks. "I hate to trouble you, but is there any way we could get some orange juice for this lady here?" He indicated Meena. "And something to eat if you have it." "This is not a meal-scheduled flight," replied to attendant. "I know," Dr. Covington replied, "But... She's expecting..." "Well, why didn't you say so?!" replied the attendant, "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it."

Andrew turned to his traveling companion. "The most important part of prenatal care is prenatal nutrition, remember? You said so yourself, doctor."

*************************************************************

"This is to inform the person(s) listed above that the special investigative unit known as the X-Files has been re-opened by order of special council and that the person(s) listed above are hereby returned to active service as representatives of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Signed Walter B. Skinner, Jr., Assistant Director"

It was as simple as that.

Mulder and Scully received the word via government courier at dawn when they returned home from Byer's house. Anxious to find their daughter, they took only as long as it took to take quick showers and change their clothes, and left for their old office.

It was as if the office had been vacuum-sealed in a perpetual time warp. Clear plastic dust cloths covered the office as if someone had placed them and gone away for summer vacation. The only piece of furniture not covered was Mulder's desk, upon which sat two pocket-sized laptop computers and his name plate. "You'd think after almost a quarter of a century, I'd get my own name plate and desk, but I guess not," mused Scully. Scully removed the plastic cover from one of the chairs in the room, dragged it to the desk and sat down. Mulder sat on the other side of the desk, and turn on one of the laptops. Scully took the files out of her briefcase, and sat them on the desk. 

"Ok. Here's what we know," she began. "Meena was asked to participate in a conference sponsored by Janus Biomedical Research, the topic of which was multiple births and their similarities and anomalies. Thanks to our sources, we know that Janus is headquarted in Bethesda, Maryland, not too far from the naval hospital." "We also know that Janus Biomedical is involved in a wide array of research; from genetics to cryogenics, from bionics up to and including, I'll bet, those tiny little green liver pills that Carters used to own," Mulder added. "Their most notable research was the successful development of bionic limbs," Scully continued, "they are used to this day because they mimic the behavior of the original limb. You cannot tell the difference. The first patient received a bionic arm to replace one severed by a 'work related accident' it says here in 2005. We don't know who the patient is because it is not listed in the file." Scully stopped in mid sentence to notice Mulder rifling through the rest of the file. "Am I boring you, Mulder?" she asked. "Never in a million years, sweetheart," he replied. 

Mulder pulled out a sheet of paper, and began to read. "It says here that the conference was arranged as part of the Cassandra Project," Mulder continued, "the offices of which are located in Arlington, VA." The two agents stopped. "Already, I'm starting not to like this," Scully said. "The Cassandra Project? What does that mean?" "Well, I think you should find out," answered Mulder. "Work on a cover, and see if you can break through their security. I'll dig around at Janus Biomed to see what there is to see."

Mulder and Scully paused to take a look again at their surroundings. "The more things change, the more they stay the same," Mulder commented. "Isn't that what they say?"


	6. The Cutting Edge

"OK, boys; let's see what you got."

"We'll show you ours if you show us yours..."

"Langley!"

"Why Byers! and you a married man..."

"Marriage is a noble institution -You two should try it sometime..."

"We did, but Frohicke kept leaving the seat up."

"Cute, guys," Scully remarked, "but can we get down to the matter at hand?" Scully had gone over to the Lone Gunman hideaway in preparation for her investigation of the Cassandra project. "How squeamish are you Scully?" asked Byers, "Ever stick you finger in your eye?" "Accidentally or on purpose." "Both," Langly asked. "Ok, both I guess. Why?" Frohicke pushed a small white contact case towards her. You'll need to wear these contacts when you go through the retina scan. These will create a totally different retina view for you, in case you've gone through a scan in recent months." "Won't they look like contacts when they scan?" asked Scully. "Space-age polymers so thin they practically meld to your eyes - and you can still get them out in a flash," replied Langley. "You shouldn't have any problems with them, but I would put them in before you leave."

"OK; what else?" Scully inquired. Frohicke pointed over to a small sink and faucet. "Do me a favor Scully. Can you turn on that faucet and hold your hands underneath it? Palms up, please." Scully walked over and did as he asked. "I can assure you guys I did wash my hands at least once today...." Scully was not expecting what she felt. What she should have felt on her hands was water; what came out was a puff of mist that immediately covered her hands." "Pretty cool, huh?" quipped Langley. "It's amazing what we can do with polymers these days. The same technology can be manipulated to form an ultra-ultra fine coat on your hands. Prevents your fingerprints from being read." "But wait a minute," Scully interrupted, "I suspect I will need to give some kind of prints to get in.' "And you will," Frohicke replied, 'They just won't be yours. There's a chemical component - nothing harmful- that creates whole new ridges and swirls when in contact with human skin. It will be a unique set of prints, but not the ones you were born with." Scully smiled, "I'm beginning to be glad you guys have way too much time on your hands. I suspect there's more?" she continued. 

Byers handed her a manila envelope when she walked back to the table. "These are your credentials and inside you'll find an I.D. badge, electronic gate card..." Scully pulled out an ID badge with her face, but someone else's name. "G. Anderson? Couldn't you have come up with something more exciting?" She joked. "No need to call attention to yourself,' Frohicke replied. "The Cassandra Project is housed in a brick townhouse on 1013 Waverly Drive," Frohicke continued. "There is a four-digit code in that envelope that you will need to use to get into the building. You'll have it memorized by the time you get there."

Byers paused a moment before he spoke. "We've known Meena since before she was even here. She's every much our daughter in spirit as she is yours in flesh and blood. Yours and Mulder's. We will find her."

Scully didn't know what to say, but she did know what to do. She kissed each of the Lone Gunmen on the cheek, and left.

The Lone Gunmen watched as the door latched behind her. "Mulder's a lucky guy," said Frohicke quietly. "So tell me, Byers," Langely asked, "how did you find your wife even after we gave her a new identity in Vegas? Nobody was supposed to find her - how did you?"

"I listened to my heart," he replied. 

****************************************************************

Scully pulled up to the Waverly Office Park at 1013 Waverly Drive in Arlington. The office park looked more like a gated community, with a series of brickface, townhome - style offices that housed anything from stockbrokers to attorneys. A simple wooden sign remincient of those found in Colonial Williamsburg listed each of the occupants on the property. The very last line of text read, in simple cursive script, "A Conway Sheridan Monroe Office Community." "How quaint," Scully smirked as she pulled up to the parking gate. 

Scully rolled down the window as the car rolled to a stop. A generic mechanical voice made to sound like the girl next door spoke over the loudspeaker. "Welcome to Waverly Office Park. If you'll allow me to read your parking access card, I'll be more than happy to assist you." Scully inserted the card she got from the Lone Gunmen. "Thank you, Dr. Anderson;" the voice replied, "we've been expecting you. Please park in any one of the available spaces in front of 1013A Waverly Drive. Thank you." The mechanical arm was raised by the time the machine had finished, and Scully drove her car into the lot. Scully drove through the mock cobblestone streets until she reached her destination. The offices of the Cassandra Project were apparently housed in the offices of Janus Pharmaceuticals, a subsidiary of Janus Biomedical Research. In Scully's mind, there was no other plausible answer.

It was where the mechanical voice had instructed her to go.

Scully parked her car, and walked up the brick walkway to the front door. As soon as she stepped onto the doormat, the same mechanical voice she'd heard when she pulled up gave her further instructions. "Hello, Dr. Anderson; welcome to Janus Pharmaceutical Research. Please punch in your four digit access code." Scully punched in the code she had memorized on her way to Arlington. "Thank you," the voice replied. "In order for me to let you in, I will need to see your hand. Please place your palm on the glass surface located to your left." Scully hesitated for a moment. "Dr. Anderson," the voice insisted, "Please place your palm on the glass surface located to your left."

Scully did as the mechanical voice instructed her to do.

"Thank you, Dr, Anderson," the cybervoice continued, "Please come inside."


	7. The Special Handshake

Any illusions of a warm and comfortable surrounding were shattered the moment Scully entered the building. Janus Pharmacuticals was a cold, metallic, sterile and lifeless environment. The only presence of humanity was the androgynous receptionist who sat at the front desk, and Scully wasn't entirely sure he or she wasn't a hologram.

"Hello, Dr. Anderson," the receptionist smiled, "How may I help you?"

Scully was amazed that she was able to speak; she almost did not recognize her own voice. "I'm part of the research team..." she began. "Yes, for the Cassandra Project," the receptionist replied. "I will need you, please, to look directly at me before we continue." As Scully did as she was instructed, a narrow beam of light swept her face from left to right. "This retina scan will enable you to move freely about the facility and gain access to the office should I not be at my desk." Scully almost panicked until she remembered the contact lenses she had put in before she left on her journey.

"Thank you, Dr. Anderson," replied the receptionist. "Your offices are straight down the hallway. You will make a right at the stairwell, and the attendant will be there to assist you."

Scully made her way down the corridor. She took in every surface, every smell, and noticed every door. She looked for clues and hoped that she did not look as conspicuous as she felt. In an instant, she became aware that she had stopped becoming an agent and had become a mother looking for her lost child. In the same instant, she realized she would have to ignore her maternal instincts if she would have any hope of finding her daughter alive.

Scully reached the door to the offices for the Cassandra Project. She saw the same keypad she 'd seen when she entered the building, and on reflex entered in the four digit code she had used earlier. A red light blinked furiously beside the door. She tried again.

The red light blinked at her defiantly.

The attendant in the glassed-in room looked at her. "Is there a problem, Dr. Anderson?" asked the attendant. It seemed a million years had passed before she heard herself respond. "I can't seem to get into my office," she replied. "What is your password, please?' asked the attendant." "One-Oh-One-On" she replied. "I'm sorry; but that's not correct," the attendant replied. 

Scully felt the fear rise in her throat.

"I need the password that was sent to you in the mail, " the attendant continued. "We've had to ask that our researchers present a password when they arrive. We have had an unfortunate breach of security in recent days. Do you have that password, Dr. Anderson?"

Scully's mind raced forward. She tried to figure out all possible means of escape, and if that were not possible, all the things that might happen if and when they discovered who she was. 

She even thought of the possibility that she may never see those she loved again. 

Scully thought, and thought hard before she spoke.

"Spender," she replied. "The password is Spender."

There was an audible click as the door unlatched.

"Have a pleasant day, Dr. Anderson," the attendant replied as she entered the labs. 


	8. Truck Stop

Mulder raced along the Beltway towards Bethesda, and his mind raced faster than the speedometer with thoughts about wife and missing daughter. After the years they had spent together, he knew not to second guess his wife and knew better after thirty some years than to doubt her abilities. Her tenacity, intelligence and strength of will had stood her in good stead, and would do so again. 

But still, he worried.

It was his memories of the early years in their history that helped to fuel his concern. They had been through so much together, had come too perilously close to loosing each other for good. For ever. But somehow, someway, they found their way back to each other.

The last time they found each other, Meena was born.

Their daughter was the manifestation of a love so deep and a devotion so strong that they both found themselves marveling at the wonder of it. Thankful for each and every day, Mulder and Scully watched as that love grew in themselves and in their daughter. They nurtured her, they supported her, they protected her. They were a unit, a family, and for the first time in as long a time as he could remember, things were good. For the first time in a long time, he felt a sense of security, of safety. Scully and Mulder built a life for themselves and their daughter that was finally and completely safe, and had been that way for a long time.

All of that had now changed in a heartbeat. And the nagging inner voice that had waited for almost a quarter of a century finally said, "See? I told you so."

Mulder had crossed the border into Maryland when he noticed the truck next to him. A large eighteen-wheeler, it was stacked with large, black barrels, each wrapped in a cushioned mesh and capped at either end with silver lids. It quickly pulled past him, but not before he caught a glimpse of the writing on the door.

"Janus Pharmaceuticals," it read.

Mulder accelerated his speed in an effort to catch up with the truck. He managed to stay within three car lengths of the back the truck, and was able to see it as it pulled off the interstate.

The truck was headed for Bethesda, and now, so was Mulder.


	9. Welcome to Atlanta

Meena picked the first car at the first rental agency she reached when she got off the plane in Atlanta. It didn't matter to her how many club miles she had or what type of gas mileage she could get or what kind of car best suited her status. That wasn't important. She knew that what was important was that she create a paper trail so that her parents could find her. Her parents or the authorities, should come to that.

Since Meena had boarded the plane without luggage, she was able to make it to their destination a half hour before Dr. Covington. She pulled into the garage at the Atlanta Medical Towers on 1013 Peachtree, and waited. Several times, she pulled out her cell phone to call her parents, and several times, she put it away. She did not want to worry her parents and her hope was that she'd return before they did. But something told her that they would. It was a parent's job to worry - a job that she would soon assume.

A sudden kick reminded her of that fact as she waited for Dr. Covington.

Startled, Meena slowly placed a hand on her stomach. The scientist in her told her that it was way too soon to feel any sort of movement. It was gas; it was bubbles. It was impossible. The mother in her told her it was true, and it was wonderful. 

Her only wish was that she could have shared this moment with her parents.

A sudden movement outside of her body and outside of the car distracted her. She looked to her right to see a small, bright orange glow in a car about five hundred yards away. She saw the same glow five seconds later, and again five seconds after that. There was a figure in the car. She couldn't really make out who it was - there were too many shadows. Mesmerized, she stared at the bright orange glow as it flared again...

...There was a sharp rapping noise on the window to her left. Meena turned sharply to stare into the face of Dr. Covington. She turned on the ignition, and rolled down the window. "There you are," Dr. Covington said, "ready?" "Sure," Meena replied. "Why don't you go get the elevator; I'll be right there." 

Meena rolled up the window, and turned off the ignition. As an afterthought, she turned and looked to her right before she got out of the car.

The orange glow, the car, and the person in it had vanished. 

The two physicians agreed immediately on one thing: Allison Broadstreet was going to be a terrific mother. The elevator opened to the sounds of giggling children when they reached the fourth floor. The noises grew louder the closer they got to the lab. Not wanting to disturb the doctor, they peered inside. Labs, as a general rule, are normally sterile places; cold, uninviting, clinical and unfriendly. Yet here was a lab that exuded warmth despite an array of whirring machines, Bunsen burners, beakers and petrie dishes. In the center of the melee stood Dr. Broadstreet. Surrounded by children of varying ages, she had just shown them the components needed to make sulfur. A sudden chorus informed the doctors in the hallway that she had succeeded, and the two doctors had to chuckle at the variety of scrunched-up faces and pinched noses in reaction to the smell of rotten eggs. The room broke out in laughter, a hearty wail and guffaw that was led by none other than Dr. Broadstreet herself. Allison Broadstreet caught a glimpse of her visitors in the hallway, and signaled that she would be with them shortly. As she wrapped up her session, the children lined up in rows and got ready to depart. 

When the crowd dispersed, Meena could not help but notice that Dr. Broadstreet was noticeably pregnant.

Dr. Broadstreet waited until the last child left the room before she beckoned for Meena and Dr. Covington to come in. "Hi;" she said cheerily, "Welcome. Sorry about the delay..." "It's ok," replied Dr. Covington, "it looked like you had your hands full." "Not really," she replied. "They're a good bunch of kids. I open the lab up for field trips. You know; trying to make science actually seem like fun." "Well, it sounded like you succeeded," Meena replied.

Andrew took care of the introductions. "Dr. Broadstreet, you may remember Dr. M.W. Mulder from the conference; Dr. Mulder, Allison Broadstreet, M.D. She's the woman we've come all this way to see." Dr. Broadstreet grabbed Meena's hand in a firm shake. "Nice to meet you," she said. "I don't mean to be forward, Dr. Mulder - we barely know each other, but.... Well, it's obvious you're expecting." Meena nodded her head in agreement. "You don't waste any time, do you?" Meena replied. "Your first?" asked Dr. Broadstreet. Meena nodded. "Mine too," replied Dr. Broadstreet. "And that's where the mystery begins. But I suppose you already know that." 

"I'm not following you," Meena replied. Dr. Broadstreet began to tidy up the lab from her command science show. "Truth is, " she began, "I really don't know how I got this way. Don't get me wrong. If I may be blunt, I'm no 'nun in a cloister.' but even if I had a list of men as long as my arm, it wouldn't make any difference. This baby," she said as she rested her hand on her stomach, "this is an impossibility in every sense of the word." "Not that I'm asking you to go into specifics," Andrew began, but Dr. Broadstreet finished his thoughts. "No, I'm not seeing anybody. Haven't been for six months. And it is medically impossible for me to conceive." "And you're absolutely certain of this?" asked Meena. Allison pulled up a stool, and offered a seat to both of her guests. "Yes. I've had all the tests and seen all the specialists. Endometriosis. Too much scaring. All the medical advances in the world can't help if you act too late." "So how can you explain your current state?" Andrew asked. "I can't." "Then we're back to where we started. Perhaps there isn't an answer, and we should end this conversation right now," Meena replied. "I'm not willing to accept that," Allison replied. "What I really think we should do is start with what we know. Now," Allison began, " I've taken a look at all of my prenatal tests. As I'm certain has happened in your case, all of them have come back indicating you are further along that you think. Pretty interesting if three weeks ago, you weren't pregnant, and now they're saying you're six, seven or more weeks along." "We all know that tests are not always conclusive, " Andrew replied. "Mistakes can be made in the lab; test results can get mixed up..." 

Allison opened the file in front of her, and turned it to face the two doctors. Meena picked up a small, black and white photo. "An ultrasound.." She began. "Technically, it should be too early for any type of definitive results to show up in an ultrasound," Andrew said. Meena picked up the ultrasound report. "one fetal ultrasound," it read, "fetus approximately six to twelve weeks. Ultrasound normal." Meena looked at the record at the bottom edge of the photo.

"Broadstreet, Allison," it read. It was dated two days prior to their arrival. 

"I didn't tell the technician how far along I thought I was," Allison continued. "In the same folder, you'll see the records for my annual check-up, taken four weeks ago. It was a complete work-up." Andrew read the report. "There's no mention of a pregnancy." 

Andrew handed the file to Meena. "You're right," she replied. "Clean bill of health, no mention of pregnancy." "At least not to the extent I am now," Allison replied. 

Allison stopped a minute and looked the two doctors. She focused special attention on Meena. "There is no doubt something happened to us during that conference. There are too many strange things; too many unanswered questions. This is not normal. If my calculations are correct; if my theory is what I think it is, my baby is growing at a gestation rate that is at the very least twice that of a normal pregnancy." "Possibly even triple that," Meena replied quietly. "So where should we start?" Andrew asked. "From within," replied Allison. "Let's start with ourselves. I think you should begin with bloodwork, Dr. Covington. An MRI, EEG, EKG, the works. And Dr. Mulder," Allison said as she turned to face Meena, "I'm hoping you'll agree to an ultrasound."

Meena hesitated. Things were going way too fast for her; speeding along at a rate that she couldn't control...

"I firmly believe Janus Biomedical is at the root of this," Allison said. "And I plan on proving it. Can I count on your help?" "Without a doubt," Andrew replied. "Dr. Mulder...?" Andrew asked.

Meena nodded slowly. "Yes," she said. "You can count on it." 


	10. Keep On Truckin', Baby

Mulder followed the truck off the interstate, and into the Bethesda city limits. He tailed it all the way into the campus of Janus Biomedical Research, which was located in a heavily wooded area five miles away from Interstate 95. While it may have been true that the medical conglomerate was close to the Naval hospital, it was also true it would take longer to get there by car than by helicopter. Whoever built and designed the medical research campus wanted to be certain no one could accidentally stumble onto its grounds.

Mulder followed the eighteen wheeler down a paved road and into a clearing. The medical research facility was sprawled out over at least one hundred acres of ground in an open clearing. Five buildings were assembled on the plot in an inverted horseshoe. The driveway for deliveries forked off to the right, and Mulder was prepared to follow the truck when a young security guard stepped out of the guard kiosk and in front of the car. "Can I help you, sir?" he asked when Mulder rolled to a stop.

Mulder had hoped that it would not have come to this; not that he wasn't ready for it, and he certainly expected it. He just didn't have the time or patience for delays.

"What was that?" asked Mulder as he rolled down his window. "I couldn't hear you - window was rolled up." "Are you aware you're on private property, sir?" asked the young guard. Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder could see that the truck he'd followed was stuck negotiating a turn. He could also see that once the driver gained his bearings, he would be down the road, and out of site. He had to act quickly.

"Uh, yeah," Mulder replied. "It's ok - my wife works here." "And where is that?" the guard asked. Mulder pointed to the building to his right, which was in the direction of the truck. "Building one over there." "That's not building one, sir, " the guard replied, "building one's over there." The guard pointed to the building to Mulder's left. "Is that not the first building on the right?" asked Mulder. "Yes, but..." the guard began "Then that's building one. My wife works in building one, which is the first building on the right. That's what she said." The guard looked at Mulder for a minute. "What did you say your wife's name was, sir?" "I didn't," Mulder replied.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder could see the truck make another attempt at the turn. One more try, and the drive would be able to negotiate the turn, and drive out of sight.

"Listen, son, " Mulder began, You got a wife?" "No," the guard replied. "A girlfriend?" "No" "A boyfriend?" the guard shook his head....

"...A life?" Mulder thought to himself. After a quick glance, Mulder could see that the truck was beginning to straighten its wheels...

"Ok, son - look ," Mulder began. "Today is my anniversary. Thirty-Five years. Do you know how long that is? Long enough for you to be a far-off thought in the back seat of a PT Cruiser. And right now, all I'm thinking about is surprising my wife of thirty-five years so that, if I'm lucky, she'll surprise me with something I want, which, quite frankly, is none of your business..." "Well, sir, " began the guard, "If you'll just give me her name, I can call her..."

Mulder looked him straight in the eyes. "You don't understand the whole concept of the word 'surprise,' do you, son?"

Mulder could hear the truck pull away in the distance. He knew the longer he kept this up, the slimmer his chances would be of finding that truck again.

"Look, " Mulder pleaded, "Five minutes - I'm in, we're out. Tell you what; I'll even pull back around this way to make sure you can say 'Hi!' to the little lady." "You have to, " replied the guard, "it's the only way out." "I knew that, " replied Mulder.

The guard paused and looked at Mulder. "OK - five minutes. Make it quick." "Thanks," Mulder said as he put the car in gear. "Your grandparents must be so proud of you."

Mulder pulled away, and immediately parked in front of the first building on the right. He made sure that the guard saw him get out of the car, and made extra sure the guard's back was turned when darted behind the building.

Mulder's back hugged the outside wall of building number five as he carefully made his way to the back lot. Hearing voices as he neared the building's corner, he stopped and pressed his back even harder against the brick stucco. There were two drivers in the yard; one was talking about the day's shipment, the other was commiserating about the long night he had driving back and forth from Alexandria and how the sleeper cab door was jammed. The driver had not had any sleep that night because he could not get into the sleeper compartment. The words, "liquidation shipment" came up frequently in their conversation. After five minutes, the drivers left the yard to go on their breaks. Mulder listened closely to hear if there were any other people in the yard. Satisfied that the coast was clear, he peered around the corner.

Something (or rather, someone) forced him to jerk his head back into its hiding place.

Mulder was able to catch a glimpse of a man in heavy blue coveralls and a baseball cap as he exited the rear sleeper compartment of the truck cab. Muder wasn't able to see his face; the man quickly darted onto the loading dock, and went into the building.

Something about the man's movements triggered a sense of deja vu that he quickly dismissed.

Mulder made a run for it, and found his way into the storage building. It was a large industrial space filled with empty, heavy-duty plastic pallets stacked about ten feet high. To his left, there was a row of what looked like refrigeration units. Each of the doors to these units had hazmat signs on them with the universal symbol for liquid nitrogen. Each of the doors were not locked with the latest security gadgets but with a standard, heavy duty padlock. Mulder had to laugh at the absurdity of their choice. Mulder looked to his right, and saw the black containers that were on the truck. He walked over to inspect them, and found each one had a shipping manifest taped to it. 

The letterhead read, "Janus Pharmaceuticals, Alexandria, VA."

He scanned the manifest, looking for some kind of a clue that would help him in his search. The only thing that stood out to him seemed to be some kind of a catalogue or list number. The container he was looking at was simply listed as DOL1013.

When Mulder looked down at the container again, he noticed the lid was loose. 

It was an open invitation for him to see what was inside. He accepted it, and removed the lid.

What Mulder saw inside the container sickened him more than anything he had seen in all his years on the X-Files.

Horrified by what he saw, he did not hear the drivers come back into the storage area, nor did he hear the man in the blue coveralls come up behind him. He tasted blood as the stranger's hand clamped over his mouth; his vise-like grip splitting his lip was it was crushed against his teeth and gums. He dragged Mulder back behind the pallets, and put his face very close to Mulder's head. The stranger's voice had a familiarity it never should have had as he whispered harshly into his ear.

"Keep your mouth shut if you want to see your daughter alive." 


	11. Uh-Oh...!

Scully walked the long hallway down to the lab where she was to work. There was no sound as she walked down the hall, the walls absorbing every trace of sound as though they were padded. The space that surrounded her was white, entirely devoid of sound, sight, and motion.

She couldn't even hear the sound of her own footsteps or the rapid beating of her own heart. 

According to directions she received before she entered the hallway, labs for the Cassandra Project were down the hallway; "make a right across from the door that leads to the stairwell," she was told. But the homogeneous surroundings made it hard to tell beginning from end; start to finish...

...Real from unreal or lies from the truth. 

Scully stopped as she heard a door open. She waited for someone to come out into the hall, unsure of what she should do, what direction she should take. No one came out, and she heard the door as it shut.

What Scully did not realize was that the door latch did not catch, and that the door was still open. She didn't realize it was open until walked past it.

It was the first sound she had heard since she'd entered the hallway. A whirring, machine-like sound. It reminded her of the sound made by life support machines. She slowly turned her head. and looked.

The room had the same white color as the outside hallway. It was large, and housed how's upon rows upon rows of tables. Three people stood around each table clad in white hazmat suits and face shields. At first, she thought they were in the middle of a surgical procedure. She saw the glint of light-on-steel as a scalpel was raised, or maybe it was the arch of light from a laser. She couldn't tell. It appeared as though each of the teams were working on a cadaver; a typical, time tested teaching techniques used in medicine for many years. She thought they were working on a cadaver until the cadaver turned its head, and looked directly at Scully. She stood there, transfixed as the surgeon looked up and looked directly at her as well.

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Dr. Anderson?"

Scully didn't hear the lab tech ask her if she needed assistance. She was fixated on the open door and what was behind it. The cadaver and the surgeon in the room stared at Scully through soulless and empty eyes. Just as she became locked in their gaze, the door closed slowly and locked.

"Dr. Anderson....?"

"The Cassandra Project," Scully said slowly. "I'm here to work on the Cassandra Project, and I can't find the lab." "Yes, I know," replied the young tech. "I'm your lab technician. They sent me here to find you, and set you up in your office. It's just through that door right there."

For one terrifying moment, Scully thought she had pointed to the door that had been open. She realized the tech was pointing to the door next to it. "Almost like the Lady and the Tiger," she thought as the technician opened the door. 

Scully and the lab tech walked into a traditional lab filled with beakers and test tubes. In a glassed-in portion of the lab was her office. It had the look of being hastily built, right down to the name plate that had been affixed to the door.

"I'm sorry about the name plate, but we didn't know your first name," the tech began. "It's not important," Scully hastily replied. "I suppose not," said the lab tech, "it's something we can take care of later on." The technician opened the door to her office. "The most recent research for the project is on your desk. Files for recent and past liquidations are in the lateral files. Please let me know when you're ready for me." 

The technician left, and Scully waited until she made her way through the lab, and out of the room. Instinct told her that she did not have much time to gather the information she needed. She began with the lateral files, opening a drawer marked "CP11211951 to CP11211961." The first file she came across was labeled "participants" and when she looked inside, she saw four columns of alpha-numeric listings. It was the first listing that caught her eye.

"AMA10131931302A" was the first listing in a column marked "A" on the neatly typed page. In the "B" column was a listing that read "RAM11211929508P". Column "C" had the entry "DOLB11211951" and Column "D" the listing "DOL11301951AR." Scully went through all the possibilities, examined all the permutations and calculations she could when she realized the answer was staring her in the face.

"Aaronson, Anne Marie," it read. Suddenly, it all became clear. Scully pulled the file out of the cabinet, and quickly scanned its contents. The more she read, the clearer it became. The more she read, the more terrified she was. 

She quickly replaced the file, and moved down the rows of lateral filing cabinets. "CP10131962, CP11211973, CP10131999...." She moved down to the final drawer, which did not have a label on it. She took a chance, and opened the file drawer. It was not as full as the other drawers, but it had a participant list just like all the others. The difference was that it was clearly labeled, "Neonatology Conference." Scully scanned the list and the files in that drawer. Each entry on the list had a corresponding file in the drawer.

All except for two.

Scully took the list out of the folder, folded it, and put it in her pocket. She scanned the office in an effort to collect her thoughts. There were two folders missing - but where were they?

Scully's eyes fell on a standing file on her desk with two files in it. 

It seemed to her as though she were walking through gum as she crossed the short distance to the desk. She picked up the files.

The first one read, "Mulder, Melissa Wilhelmina"; the second, "Covington, Andrew Alexander." 

The two men listened intently as the two truck drivers made small talk. The drivers found what they were looking for, and left the room. During their conversation, Mulder came to a conclusion in the long seconds that ticked by.

This was a fight he wasn't going to loose.

The stranger loosened his grip on Mulder's mouth as the drivers left the storage area, and Mulder made his move. He delivered a sharp elbow to the stranger's gut and in the next instant twisted his arm behind him and kneed him in the small of his back. While his assailant was on the ground, Mulder twisted his arm even higher after he placed his foot hard on his shoulder blade.

"Yank my chain one more time and see if I don't rip your arm off and beat you with it," Mulder growled. The stranger twisted his head in a futile effort to see his captor's face. "And waste a perfectly good specimen of modern bionics?" he asked. "Who are you?" demanded Mulder. "Why Mulder," taunted the stranger, "and after we were so close..."

With his free hand, Mulder shifted his position and grabbed the man by the collar. He pulled him up only as high as he needed to yank the baseball cap off of his head.

"Krycek," hissed Mulder. 

"Speaking of chains," Krycek sneered, "how's the little woman?" Mulder punched him. "That was from her," Mulder replied. "She didn't miss you at the wedding."

In a swift move, Krycek caught Mulder off guard, rolling to one side and knocking Mulder to the ground. He drew his arm back to hit him, then stopped within inches of his face. "I'll forget the fact that right now I can very easily pile-drive your face to China; I'll even forget how hurt I was that I wasn't invited to the Scully-Mulder nuptials..."

"Why, Krycek," Mulder replied sarcastically, "how big of you? Or is that just the arm talking?" Krycek went through with the punch and Mulder avoided it by rolling out of harm's reach. He scrambled to his feet, pulling his service revolver from its ankle holster on the way up. He aimed his weapon at Krycek. "I'm sure the bionic arm or you for that matter aren't bullet-proof....."

"Cut the crap Mulder!" Krycek demanded. "Or do you want to waste the little time we have before they get back?" "Shut up Krycek," Mulder began. Krycek cut him off. "I'm the only one here who has any idea about what's going on here and who's behind it. You saw what was in those barrels. Do you want to find your daughter alive, or would you rather wait until she shows up here?" 

Mulder cocked his gun. "Start talking."

"It's all the same thing," Krycek began. "The years pass, the faces change, but it's all the same. Everything old is new again. If you want answers for the present, find your solutions in the past..."

"If you want me to kill you," Mulder continued, "keep talking in clichés..."

"Then this one should be very familiar to you," Krycek replied. "Not everything dies, Mr. Mulder. Isn't that what Marita said once?"

The two men faced each other in a stalemate, each remembering the person who made that statement. Each remembering that the person who uttered those words was herself dead and long since buried.

"Explain, " said Mulder quietly.

"The conspiracy isn't over," Krycek replied. "It never was. Just dormant. And the person behind it is an old hand at the game..." "Cigarette Smoking Man is dead; you should know that," Mulder shot back "Not CSM," Krycek answered back. "His son. Oh yes, Mulder. Jeffery Spender is alive and well and proving that we all eventually turn into the worst images of our parents. The deeper the evil, the stronger the effect. Evil outlives us all, Mulder."

"And so does good," Mulder replied, "but when I want to talk philosophy, I'll channel Plato." Mulder adjusted his aim. "Still haven't heard what I want to hear, Krycek..."

"Spender is head of the syndicate," Krycek continued, " a syndicate that will stop at nothing. The syndicate is harvesting human DNA from select groups of people; specific pairings. They are working with existing DNA strands from two hosts or parents and the resulting new strand created via IVF - In Vitro Fertilization. Your daughter, my son. They're one of the pairs."

"So what do you think, Grandpa? Your daughter, my son, our grandchild. Who'd 'a thunk it...."


	12. Adam and Eve on a Raft

Meena had a lot on her mind.

She thought about the day's events as she waited for her mother to pick up on the other end. She was so engrossed in thought that she didn't hear the message that her call could not be completed as dialed. When she finally noticed that something was wrong, she was listening to the incessant beeping of a phone that was off the hook. She tried to call her parents again, this time by calling her father on his cell phone. She had dialed half of her father's phone number when she realized she couldn't get through. Frustrated, she glowered at the phone as it beeped and flashed the "low battery" message at her in an annoying taunt.

She had not expected this. She had not expected to be gone long enough to have her call phone die on her. She had not expected to be in Atlanta, and most of all, she had not expected to be mysteriously pregnant. But she was.

"I'd let you use mine if it weren't in the trunk in my suitcase," Andrew said when he reached her. "Stupid, I know. Doctors shouldn't leave their cell phones where they can't get at them." "Well, doctors shouldn't let their batteries die either," Meena replied. She turned off the cell phone, and put it in her purse. "Well, technically, you're not on call," Andrew replied.

The two doctors stood silently in the parking lot, both saying "what next?" by virtue of their silence. Dr. Covington was the first to speak. "I could go for a cup of coffee; I'm sure you could too..." "Pregnant women shouldn't drink coffee," she replied. Thinking that she had been too harsh, she quickly added, "But is suppose a glass of juice wouldn't hurt." "It's settled then," Andrew replied. "Why don't we take my car?" He reached for Meena's arm and she immediately withdrew. "I still feel that we should take separate cars," she said. Andrew looked directly at her. "Dr. Mulder," he began, "I realize I've asked a lot of you. But in light of our recent experiences... Especially in light of what we've just heard and witnessed... I just wonder if it's not time that we trust each other." 

Meena returned his gaze with a hard and fast stare. "When that time comes, Dr. Covington, I'll let you know." Meena unlocked the driver's side door to her rental car, and got inside. As Dr. Covington left to find his car, Meena realized that she needed to re-adjust her steering wheel.

The space between it and her that was there earlier had vanished in an hour's time.

Meena pulled into a diner that was close to Dr. Broadstreet's office. She got out of the car and waited for Andrew to park. The first thing Meena noticed when they entered the diner was a display stocked with sunflower seeds. She picked out a large pack of unsalted sunflower seeds, and walked over to a booth. " M'am; you'll need to pay for those," demanded the cashier. "I'd like to put these on my tab," Meena replied. "We plan on eating." "Alright then, ma'm," replied the cashier, "your waitress will be with you shortly."

Meena opened the bag of sunflower seeds, and began eating them as soon as they sat down. She soon had accumulated a small mound of empty shells as she and Andrew waited for their waitress. "I've never seen many people make a meal out of plant seeds," Andrew commented. "You've clearly never met my dad," Meena replied. "My mom said she knew I was my father's daughter when I chose sunflower seeds over candy." Andrew smiled. "You're pretty close to your parents," he remarked. Meena nodded. "Some would say inordinately so. But I can honestly say that we have a really good relationship. I don't think there's not a thing we don't know about each other. Well, up until today," she added. "So, Dr. Covington," Meena continued, "what's your story?" "I'll tell you only if you call me Andrew," he replied. "Fair enough," Meena agreed, "if you'll call me Meena." "Is that what the "M" stands for?" Andrew asked. "The "M" stands for Melissa. My aunt. I never knew her; she died before I was born. That could be the reason my parents never called me by my first name. I guess it was too painful."

The waitress finally made her way over to their table, and they placed their order. The two continued their conversation when she left. "So tell me," Meena began, "what's the Andrew Covington story?" "Well, not too much interesting to tell," he replied. "What I know about myself, I had to pretty much discover on my own. I wasn't able to point to one person and say, 'oh, my Dad does that,' or "my Mom has a habit of doing this.'" "So you were adopted?" Meena replied. Andrew nodded. "Adopted and became an orphan and ward of the state in five short years. Bounced around from foster home to foster home. Lived an existence almost Dickensian in nature." "Did you ever try to find your birth parents?" Meena asked. "I found out that my mother died in childbirth," Andrew replied, "I don't know anything about my dad, and to be honest, don't really care to. He's had as much time to locate me. So far, nobody's been beating the proverbial path to my door." "I'm sorry..." Meena began. "Not your fault," Andrew answered, "isn't that how the old response goes?" 

Meena didn't know how to respond to his last comment. Out of nervousness, she continued to eat sunflower seeds. 

*********************************************************

The turmoil inside Mulder rolled like boiling water in a hot kettle. Mulder couldn't decide what was worse; not knowing where his daughter was, knowing his grandchild was also Krycek's grandchild, or being forced to trust Krycek in the hopes he would not end up standing beside his daughter's coffin. Kycek's entire demeanor grated and galled Mulder. The man responsible for his father's death and the death of his daughter's namesake acted as though the as-yet -unsubstantiated- fact that his daughter was pregnant by his son was enough to erase his culpability. A man who was, in effect, responsible for the death of seventy-five percent of the Mulder-Scully family tree.

"So tell me, Mulder," Kycek asked, "is blood really thicker than water?" "If your punk son laid a hand on my daughter..." Mulder began. Kycek's snide comment cut him off. "Why Mulder! How positively Victorian of you. How do you know I couldn't say the same of Melissa?" Mulder brought him back down to the ground with a backhanded hit. "Don't you ever defile that name again," He growled. Krycek raised a hand and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "And just what am I supposed to call my grandchild's mother, Mulder? Because like it or not, she is carrying our grandchild." "You're full of shit, Kycek!" Mulder exclaimed. "Face the facts, old man," Krycek replied. "There is evidence, hard and fast evidence that Spender has drawn our children into this conspiracy as part of his agenda. And they are not the only ones. There are records of IVF procedures housed at Janus Pharmaceuticals - I've seen them. File upon file upon file of people who have been unwitting and unwilling pawns of the conspiracy for decades, and they've all ended up the same way; harvested for their DNA and then discarded - in barrels, in storage. Dead. "And I'm supposed to believe this. Just because you say this is so," Mulder replied. "I'm just supposed to trust you after a history that unfortunately includes more of you than I can stand." "You don't have a choice," Krycek replied. "I've got plenty of choices, Krycek. I can walk away from this right now and look for real leads." "Leads like the one in your family tree?" said Krycek. "Your daughter carries part of the alien-human hybrid in her genes, or did you conveniently forget that you passed that on to her? My son carries the black oil through DNA passed on through Marita. The facts are all there, Mulder, the motive is right in front of your face. Open your eyes..."

Their conversation was abruptly cut short when the drivers came back from their break. Hiding behind the tower of plastic pallets, Mulder and Krycek observed as the drivers moved the newly arrive barrels into storage. It was during this interval that Mulder wondered if he should trust Krycek after all. The agent in him strongly advised him to seek other options. The man who stood next to him had never given him any concrete reason to believe him, to trust him. The father in him told him that if it meant finding his daughter, trusting Krycek might be the only option he had.

In the end, he behaved like a father. He would have to take a chance and trust Krycek, at least for now.

The drivers left the loading dock one more time. In the interest of finding his daughter, Mulder was about to ask Krycek what they should do next when he felt a sharp, intense pain in his right arm. He turned to face Krycek and saw that he was holding a hypodermic needle in his hand. Mulder tried to reply in protest, but the world was growing increasingly dark. He reached out a hand to steady himself as he fell to the ground.

Mulder's last vision was that of Krycek standing over him.

"Not everything dies," Krycek said. "And if I can help it, neither will my son." 


	13. OOPS!

Scully didn't need the clock in the lab to tell her that time was running out. She couldn't even take the luxury of a few seconds to give a cursory glance through the files she now spirited out of the glassed in office and out of the lab. She made her way down the hallway, trying not to move as quickly as her heart beat. She had to travel but a few yards to the stairwell door, but each step seemed to take an eternity. Scully discovered the door was locked when she reached it. She reached into her pocket, took out her fake ID, and passed it through the security device. The light went out for a brief second, but remained red. She tried again, and again the light glowed back at her in bright red defiance. Scully paused for what seemed to be an endless second of an eternal minute, and tried her card again.

The door remained locked. Scully was trapped.

"Dr. Anderson...?"

Scully froze.

"Dr. Anderson, were you looking for me?"

Scully turned around slowly to face the lab technician she'd met earlier. The lab tech asked her the same question again. "Are you ready to start work, Dr. Anderson?" Scully carefully chose her next words. "Actually, I'm not quite ready for you yet. I wanted to go out and get some air; you know, clear my head before we spent all day in the lab.."

"Not with those, you won't" replied the tech. "Excuse me?" Scully asked. "Those files," the lab tech explained. "You'll never make it outside with those. Company property - can't leave the building." The lab tech reached for the files. "Here; I'll take those back to the lab for you." Scully watched herself hand over the files to the lab technician and with it the first concrete piece of evidence she found involving her daughter's disappearance.

"Is there anything else you need, Dr. Anderson?" asked the technician. "Actually, yes," Scully answered. "I was also looking for the ladies' room, but I couldn't seem to find one on this floor." "There's one in the lab..." the technician began. "I was already on my way out and didn't want to go all the way back. There isn't one nearby, is there?" "There's one on the basement floor," the technician replied. "The restrooms are next to the break room and at the opposite end from storage." The technician took her ID badge out of her lab coat and opened the stairwell door. "Thanks," Scully said as she took the door from her. The technician stopped Scully with one last question. "Would you like some lotion?" "Excuse me?" Scully said. "I'm sorry," the technician replied. "I don't mean to be rude, but your hands are peeling. I thought you might like some hand lotion; that's all."

Scully looked down at her hands to discover the polymer that was supposed to shield and disguise her fingerprints was flaking away from her hands.

Scully raced down the stairs much like the heroine of the proverbial fairy tale, trying to outrace a clock that was at the last stroke of midnight. But this wasn't a fairy tale; it washer worst nightmare and was destined to end in disaster.

She reached the basement floor of the building. Relieved that she would not have to use her badge to leave the stairwell, Scully pushed the door open. A few yards ahead of her was the break room, and the few people in it took all of two seconds to stare at her. Scully quickly found the restrooms near the break room, and went inside. She crouched down to look and see if anyone was in the restroom; it was empty. Scully reached behind her for the cel phone that was clipped to her waistband, and called Mulder. It was then she discovered that she could not get an outside signal to connect to her husband's phone. She silently cursed under her breath as she surveyed the room.

She may as well have been in a tomb; there was no way to get out except the way she came in.

Scully slowly exited the washroom so as not to arouse any suspicion. The only way back out was through the stairwell, but it was locked. She didn't want to try her ID again only to have it malfunction again. The break room seemed to have cleared out, and Scully took the opportunity to look around. The room was another windowless tomb. Scully began to despair when she noticed something.

Light. Outside light coming in through a crack in a door. 

The door she noticed was a small supply room in the farthest corner of the break room. She said a silent prayer as she made her way over to it, and tried the handle.

The handle turned, and the door opened.

When Scully shut the door behind her , she discovered she was in a small mechanical room that doubled as a supply room for snacks and sodas. As she looked up, she discovered that the light was coming from possibly the only window in the whole building. The architects, when they designed the complex, had wanted to give it the look of colonial Williamsburg, which meant they had to compromise in some cases and adapt in others. One of those compromises and adaptations took shape in the form of a window well at ground level to keep melting snow from flooding the storeroom.

Scully looked around the storeroom, and found three soft drink crates stacked one on top of another. She shoved the cases over to the window, and climbed on top. If she stood on tiptoe, she could just reach the lock on the window. She didn't know how she was going to turn it, but she didn't have to worry.

The window was already unlocked. Scully also discovered when she used the tips of her fingers to open the window that it opened into the room.

Scully climbed down from the boxes, and looked for one more thing that would give her enough height she that she could reach the window. She found an old mop bucket in the corner, and carried over to the soda cases. She turned the bucket upside down and placed it on top of the soda cans. 

Just as she climbed up on the bucket, she heard someone outside the door.

Scully held her breath as she waited for the inevitable. Seconds ticked into minutes as sweat trickled down her face. She didn't dare move, not even to blink the sweat out of her eye. After what seemed to be an eternity, the person left. 

She didn't wait around for them to come back.

Scully hoisted herself over the windowsill. She stretched her body across the shallow hole and the metal half moon of the window well. She grabbed clumps of frozen sod and dirt, anything in an effort to pull herself out and upright. She stood up and quickly tried to get her bearings. As she made her way to the corner of the building, the spotted her rental car. She quickly cut a diagonal path across the front lawn, unlocked the car, and got in.

Scully tried not to speed as she made her way to the front gate. The only thing that stood between her and freedom was the parking arm. Resisting an impulse to charge the gate, Scully slowed down, rolled down her window, and inserted her parking access card into the machine. She was about to drive through when she noticed the parking arm hadn't moved.

The cybervoice that had greeted her so cheerfully upon her arrival now sounded ominous.

"I'm sorry Dr. Anderson, but there seems to be a problem with your parking access card. Please wait while I address the problem. Thank you for your patience."

If Scully had any doubts about what the cybervoice had said, the second time it repeated itself erased all of them. And Scully did something that was completely out of character for her.

She allowed herself a moment of sheer panic and terror.

There was a room in the basement of Janus Pharmaceuticals. It was at the opposite end of the hall, across from the break room. The room was marked "Storage," but there was a handful of people who knew the room's true usage. Those people, that select few, worked in Security, and knew that behind those doors was the epicenter of all security operations for Janus Pharmaceuticals. 

Behind those doors were two people behind the console of a security camera desk. The woman wore a white lab coat and was seated at the desk; on top of that desk near her left hand were two manila file folders from the Cassandra Project. The man stood next to her, and had there been anyone behind him, they would have seen a thin plume of bluish-white smoke. They both watched the monitors; particularly the one focused on the exit gate from the complex. The woman spoke first. "I can run a tracer on the plates, if you'd like." The man made no other motion expect to extinguish his cigarette and light another. "It's not necessary," he replied. "I have all the information I need. Why don't you take a break and get me a cup of coffee?" "Certainly, sir," the woman replied.

The woman got up from her seat, and took off the lab coat she had worn as part of her undercover disguise. She removed the jacket from the back of her chair, and put it on.

Emblazoned on the pocket were the initial of the company for whom she worked.

CSM.

Scully was a heartbeat away from driving through the gate when the cybervoice delivered a different message.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Dr. Anderson. The problem has been resolved. Have a nice day."

The gate arm raised to an upright position. Scully didn't waste any time leaving the office complex.


	14. Oh SH...T!

The man in the Security viewing room watched the monitor as Scully's rental car pulled away. He had to admit she looked good, even after all these years. He could see why his father had developed such a fondness for her. Quite silly, really. She was several years his junior at the time, and in light of his practices, in light of his treachery and malevolence it was really rather deluded of his father to hold the place for her in his heart that he did, and to think she held nothing other than contempt and disgust for him.

CGB Spender didn't hold anyone in his heart. His son knew that for a fact, and his father confirmed it when he tried to kill him. 

The man in the Security viewing room took another puff of his cigarette. As far as the world knew, Jeffrey Spender was dead, shot at point blank rage and quickly left by his father to bleed to death on the floor. And for all intents and purposes, he was dead - even though he managed to survive thanks to a strange twist of faith. It was true; bulletproof vests did stop bullets. And to think he had originally turned down stakeout duty.

Spender did die that day, but not in the usual way one thinks of death. The bullet fired by from his father's gun, although it did not pierce his flesh, mortally wounded his soul; his belief in a true and just world where right was right and wrong punished shattered like fragile crystal hurled against a wall. It irrevocably changed him. It turned him into his father.

Like father, like son.

He proved that shortly after his father's attempt on his life by having him killed. He knew how it worked; convince Covarubious and Krycek that it was in their best interest to dispose of a man who had actively sought and plotted their downfall. It was the first step on the path his father had laid long ago. After that, it was easy. Evil is amazingly easy for the person without a soul.

Like father, like son.

The man in the Security viewing room, the man who was known at one time as Jeffery Spender took another drag off his cigarette. He knew this wouldn't be his last interaction with the Mulder family. The final phase of his plan had just started; the wheels had just begun to turn a scant twenty-four hours earlier. He wasn't through, not by a long shot.

His fun was just beginning.

Meena pulled into the last parking space on the ground floor. As she turned off the ignition, she saw Andrew drive past her in the rear view mirror. "Hopefully he'll be able to find parking on one of the other floors," she thought. Meena and Andrew decided at the restaurant to go back to Dr. Broadstreet's office on the off chance she might still be in the lab. If they couldn't begin the tests today, at least they could set up a game plan for the next morning. 

Meena opened her purse, and noticed the charge slip from their meal. She offered and insisted that she treat for their repast. Her motives had changed somewhat; she still didn't entirely trust the doctor who had led her this far, but after having come this far, she relented just a little bit. She folded the charge slip in half, and opened her wallet to put it away.

It was then that she noticed her favorite photo. The photo was so old that the colors had faded, but her memory of the event was as sharp and as vibrant as ever.

Late one fall afternoon, six-year-old Meena was outside playing in the leaves. An only child, she was used to creating her own amusement and today was no different. She spent most of the afternoon entertaining herself; burrowing into the great mound of yellow, burnt orange and gold leaves and coming up quickly, throwing them high into the air and letting them rain down on her. When she grew tired of the leaves, she found an old Frisbee near the house and played a one-sided game of catch. Her father opened the kitchen door and stuck his head out to check on her. "You want Daddy to play Frisbee with you?" He asked. "Nope," Meena replied, perfectly content to continue her odd little game. "Alright," her father said, "let me know."

No sooner had her father gone back into the house than she threw the Frisbee into the tree. "Uh-oh..." she thought. The Frisbee had somehow managed to land in the "Y" of the birch tree. When it didn't fall to earth, Meena devised a plan to get it down. A plan that involved the wheelbarrow, a lawn chair, and stretching as far as she could reach. 

Her plan did not work, and it a great surprise to her when she landed, chin first, on the exposed tree root.

"Little Miss Independent," her mother scolded as she cleaned her wound and kissed away her tears. "Little Miss-I-Want-To-Do-It-Myself; I don't want anybody's help...." "And just what side of the family tree do you think she got that from, Mrs. Independent-can-do-it-myself-thank-you?" The twinkle in her father's eye always made her mother smile, no matter how hard she scolded her father....

...It was that twinkle and that memory that made her smile now, and also made her a little sad.

Yes, little Miss Independent wanted to find the answer on her own, and as a result had not spoken to her parents all day, hadn't left a message for them since noon that day. She had not wanted to worry them, but they were certainly wondering where she was by now. It was late afternoon; almost the dinner hour. There was no way to keep something like this from them, especially if she was going to have to spend the night in Atlanta.

That was something else she hadn't planned on; spending the night in Atlanta.

Meena mulled things over as she walked to the elevator, and decided before she and Dr. Broadstreet and Andrew did anything that she was going to call her parents. She made a mental note to ask Dr. Broadstreet to use her phone as soon as she got to her lab.

The elevator came just as she reached the doors. Since Andrew was nowhere to be seen, she got in the elevator, and went without him.

Meena noticed the floor was empty when she stepped out of the elevator. She didn't hold much hope of there being anyone around, but still decided to go to Dr. Broadstreet's lab.

As she reached the door, she could see the doctor; her back was turned, and she was shutting the door to a storage closet. Meena knocked on the door, and came in. "Dr. Broadstreet," she began, "I'm glad you're still here. If you're not on your way out, Dr. Covington and I would like to discuss going forward with the investigation. Maybe we could take you out for dinner...."

Dr. Broadstreet did not respond; in fact, she never turned around.

"Dr. Broadstreet," Meena continued, "I'm sorry - did I catch you at a bad time...?"

The doctor turned around to face Meena and right away, Meena noticed something was terribly wrong. "I'm sorry - I thought you were somebody else," she began. "I'm Dr. Broadstreet," the person replied. Meena cut her off. "That's impossible; the woman I met, the one we saw this afternoon was pregnant..."

The woman who claimed to be Dr. Broadstreet slowly moved towards Meena. As she passed the closet door, it opened and something, someone fell out.

Meena stared in horror at the body on the floor. Dr. Broadstreet lied dead on the floor and it was brutally obvious her unborn child had been savagely taken from her. Meena turned to run and as she did, she stood face to face with a woman she did not know. As she watched, the woman changed before her very eyes into Andrew Covington.

"What is it you humans say about killing two birds with one stone?" he asked.

The last thing Meena saw was the flash of light on metal; the last sound she heard was the sound of her own voice screaming in terror.


	15. All The Angels And Saints

Scully stared into space. She thought on some level that if she stared long enough and hard enough, her daughter would materialize before her eyes. She'd have that quirky little half smile she inherited from her father, and say, "Oh, Mom; I'm sorry - I didn't mean to make you worry, but I ran into friends from med school and time just got way from us. When I realized what time it was, it was too late to call and.... Mom, please don't be cross..."

And then she would smile that little smile that was so much a part who she was, and Scully would hug her and hold her and say a thousand Hail Mary's in thanksgiving if only her daughter would appear if she could just wish hard enough.

Scully stared into space as if she could will her daughter to appear before her very eyes, but she did not.

Scully sat on a stool in Byer's basement. She looked down at the cel phone in her hand and went through the options menu once more. She highlighted the option for "voice mail" in the hopes that a message had come through. There wasn't one. The last message was the one Scully, Mulder and the Lone Gunmen had listened to in Byer's basement. Meena left that message thirty hours ago. 

More than a day had passed, and Meena was still missing.

Scully half listened to the conversation between Byers, Frohicke and Langly as she dialed her husband for the fifth time in an hour. The phone rang and rang and rang until the tin recorded voice informed her the cellular customer she was trying to reach wasn't available. She had no idea where her daughter was and if she was all right; she had no idea where her husband was and if he was all right. In a day and a half her life had changed from a family of three to a solitary existence.

Byers, Langly and Frohicke sniped at each other, nitpicking at faults like hens in a yard full of grain. "It's amazing what we can do with polymers these days," Frohicke mimicked Langly. "You're lucky her eyes didn't fall out of her head.." "We had no reason to believe that the polymer would react that way," Langly replied "It was fine in the test trials for the contact lenses," Byers added. "And the test trials for the liquid version...?" Frohicke inquired. He didn't get an answer, what he got instead were puzzled looks from Langly and Byers. "You didn't do the test trials on the liquid version?!" Frohicke asked in disbelief. Almost in unison, the two men replied, "I thought that was your job..." "No!!!" Frohicke replied. "Guys, this really takes a special kind of STOOPID..." Frohicke began...

Scully stood up from the stool and walked over to the group. "Guys, what's done is done. We can't do anything about it now. And it wasn't a total loss. It got me into the building." Scully paused. "For all the good it did - I had the files, and all I could get out was a list."

Byers spoke first. "You're right, Scully. On both counts. What's done is done and it wasn't a total loss, but not in the way you think." "Come again?" Scully asked. Lanlgy crossed over to the laptop on the counter. "What did we learn about computer chips, boys and girls?" "That anything with a computer chip is linked to a computer somewhere and any computer anywhere can be hacked by any kid ten and under," Frohicke replied. "And to think just yesterday, he started on solid foods - he'll be tying his own shoelaces next," Langly replied. Frohicke frowned menacingly at Langly as he continued. "It appears that the Cassandra Project, a project housed at Janus Pharmaceuticals, recently took inventory of their files. Those files too old to be retyped or copied were scanned into the computer and those that could be copied were. The beautiful thing is that their printer and copier are one and the same, and the machine is linked to the computer. We hacked into the printer/copier's big, fat memory chip which got us - however twisted and convoluted- into the computer, et voila!"

Scully looked at the laptop screen; on it was a list entitled, "Town Meeting, Bakersville, Iowa, 1957." It was divided into four columns, much like the list she had folded in her pocket. " 'What's this?' you may ask," said Byers "Well, we're about to find out. As you noticed, there are two columns here, each containing alphanumeric strings. Here's what we know." "Pick a line, Scully," Frohicke said. She obliged, and picked the first line on the page. "We've discovered that these alpha- numeric strings correspond to people. The first three characters are initials; the numbers are the date and time birth for that person. This person is Jane Maxwell, who was born on October 22, 1937 at eleven twenty-one in the evening. She is listed next to someone, a man named Peter Jacobson, who was born on June 30, 1935 at eight-fifty a.m. Let's pull up their files." Langly opened the two computer records, and placed them side by side. "The next entry, DOLB means 'date of live birth,'" Langly began, "which was, as we can see, May 18, 1957. And this is odd because why? I'll tell you. Look at her medical records." Scully moved the cursor down in Jane Maxwell's file. After the picture in the front of the file, she found the doctor's notes "April 18, 1957. Annual check-up in preparation for marriage license. All blood work normal. Doctor does not suspect pregnancy." Scully looked up from the file. "And yet she gives birth the next month. There could be a number of things; a doctor trying to protect a patient from scandal..." "There's a picture in the file; why don't you take a look at it," replied Byers. Scully scrolled down to a picture that was part of the file. In it was the same young woman in the first photo standing next to a man. There was a banner in the photo that read, "Bakersville Town Meeting, 1957." "And no, the man in the photo is not her beloved," Langly replied, "its Peter Jacobson, as referenced in the second set of files. And you will also note that his name isn't on the marriage license in the Maxwell file; in fact, he doesn't look anything at all like the man in her engagement photo." 

Scully scrolled through the files. It was true. "So let's bring it home, boys," Scully continued. Frohicke was the first to speak. "There are some strange things in both of the files. If you look at the Jacobson file, you'll see that he was at the doctor's office on a regular basis complaining of head aches and black outs. This was shortly after the May 18 birth of the Maxwell child. If you look at the Maxwell records, there is note of a compound administered intravenously. This same note is also found in the Jacobson file, which leads us to what is the most disturbing revelation of all." Byers continued Frohicke's train of thought. "DOL. Date of Liquidation." Byers opened a window on the laptop. "We were able to run an analysis on the compound and found that it was organic in nature. It was used by some Native American tribes in hunting. Around this time, Janus Pharmaceuticals began to manufacture synthetic versions of this compound. It is a drug that paralyzes the muscles in the body, including the heart and lungs. Anyone injected with this drug, in effect, dies slowly of asphyxiation. The horror is that the brain remains alert, even though the person is unable to respond." Langly continued cautiously. "As far as we can tell, Date of Liquidation is synonymous with date of death. And if you notice, both people in the file have newspaper clippings that show they disappeared on the same day and were reported missing - the same day they received the injections. We also suspect the child met with the same fate."

"But what's the motive for the murders?" Scully asked. "We suspect that Janus Pharmaceuticals, before it was ever known as Janus Biotech, was experimenting with gene splicing. You said yourself the first file you saw was dated on or near the Roswell incident," Byers replied. "We could conceivably hold the answer to every missing persons case for the past seventy-five years. These people were considered missing and presumed dead, which is precisely what the people involved in this conspiracy wanted everyone to think." "So let's fast forward to now," Scully replied. "How does this relate to the only piece of concrete evidence I was able to smuggle out? How does it relate to this list?" Langly paused for a minute before he spoke. "I think we better go over first what we found a couple of hours ago." He placed a file on the counter. "I was able to track down these - receipts from transactions made on Meena's credit card." Scully opened up the file. The first receipt she saw was for a rental car from Lariat at the Atlanta airport. According to the record, she had planned to return the car that same day. She picked up another receipt, this one for a "Violet's Diner" on Peachtree Street. The charge was for twenty-five dollars. 

One of the items it listed was a large bag of unsalted sunflower seeds.

Scully gently placed the receipt back in the folder, and closed it.

"The receipt for the food is stamped for four p.m.," Byers began, "which is the last time anybody would have seen her. As you can tell, it's for two people, so we can pretty much figure that she was with Andrew Covington." The fax machine beeped an announcement to expect an incoming fax; Frohicke walked over to see what it was. "You still haven't answered my question about the list," Scully replied. Byers looked at Langly, then looked at her. "What is Meena's date and time of birth?" he asked slowly. "May 15, 2001 at 9:00a.m.; she was born the day after Mulder came back - you know that," replied Scully.

Byers typed the information into the laptop. Just as he feared, Meena's file came up. "Scully, could you hand me the list, please?" She did as Byers requested, and he typed in the reference number listed next to her name. Andrew Covington's file came up immediately. "He's the father of Meena's baby, isn't he?" asked Scully.

Byers didn't answer Scully; he was too busy staring at the column that read "DOL - Date of Liquidation." 

It was dated for yesterday.

Scully was about to ask Byers what he saw when Frohicke joined the group. "Scully..." he began. He paused. All eyes were on him. "Just tell me Frohicke," Scully said quietly. 

"I ran a scan within a 5000-mile radius of hospital emergency rooms for Jane Does matching Meena's description. There was a match for two women for a hospital in Atlanta...."

Scully didn't wait for him to finish; she pulled out her cel phone in an attempt to reach Mulder one more time. "Scully, there's also something else you should know," Frohicke continued. Something 

in his voice made Scully stop and focus on what he was about to say.

"One of the Jane Does was Dead On Arrival."

******************************************************

"Dad? Dad, come on - we're going to be late."

Mulder awoke with a start to look into his daughter's face as she smiled the beautiful smile she inherited from her mother. "We have to leave now if we're going to get there on time." Mulder took a look around him. He was in the living room of their Georgetown home next to the fireplace. If he looked across the room, he could see the Christmas tree with it's twinkling lights and festive ornaments. There was hardly any space left under the tree - every available inch of space with filled with brightly wrapped packages festooned with ribbons and bows. He looked down to discover that he was dressed as though it were a special occasion. Gone were the dark grey wool slacks and black sport shirt he wore earlier. Confused, Mulder ran his hand across his face and through his hair. Even though he was in his home, he had no idea where he was, or where he had been.

"For what? Late for what," he asked as he reached for his daughter's hand. She smiled her mother's smile again. "Dad, you know!" she teased. When Mulder still looked confused, Meena called to her mother as she left the room. "Mom, Daddy's having another one of his senior moments again," she joked. "That's not a senior moment, sunshine; your father's been like that since I've known him," Scully replied. Scully also reminded Mulder that he needed to be somewhere as she called from another room. "Come on, Mulder, we're late," she chided. Meena stuck her head back into the living room. "Oh, Mom asked me to remind you to turn off the Christmas tree. You know, Daddy, I would get moving if I were you - you don't want Mom to come in here after you."

Mulder sat back in his winged-backed chair and tried to gather his thoughts. What was a dream, and what was real? Was any of it; had he just imagined the past hours of panic and concern? He placed his hand down on the arm of the chair; it was solid. It felt real; it had texture and substance and color as did the rest of the room.

Mulder slowly got up from his chair, and placed his hand on the fireplace mantle. The embers of an earlier fire still glowed a bright orange glow. He reached over with the fireplace poker and stirred the embers. The acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils as the embers swirled under his movements. This was real.

He was home. The nightmare was over, and in fact, had never taken place.

Mulder crouched down next to the fireplace and uttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving. As he breathed a sigh of relief, his wife entered the room. "Mulder," she began....

Mulder stood up and turned to face his wife. Even after all these years, she still took his breath away. She wore a tailored suit in dark Tartan plaid and a white blouse. The peplum jacket cinched a still narrow waist and flared out in folds that fell just past her hips. The narrow skirt stopped just below the knees, and she wore a pair of dark green pumps. The only thing that did not belong in Scully's smartly appointed ensemble was the tie she had draped around her neck. Mulder soon realized it was one of his ties, and she began to tie it in a loose Windsor knot. "You're really not going to wear that tie, are you?" Scully scolded gently. Mulder looked down at what he was wearing. "This tie? What's wrong with this tie?" he replied. "Nothing, if we're not going to be seen in the same room together," Scully replied, "but if we are, then that tie goes with nothing you and I are wearing." She slipped the tie over her head, and threw it to Mulder. He caught it, removed his jacket and began to switch ties. "We need to get a move on, Mulder," Scully said as she left the room. "I really don't want to hear another one of Bill's endless dissertations on how I was never late to a family function until I met you." Mulder slipped the tie his wife fixed for him over his head and tightened the knot. He put on his jacket, unplugged the Christmas tree and went into the foyer of their home. He took one more look as he left the living room and blinked. Nothing disappeared. 

He truly was home.

Mulder looked at his family as he entered the foyer. Scully had added a hat to her ensemble, and was putting on her gloves as he entered. She looked at him, and smiled. "I like the cut of your jib, sailor," she said. "You cut a pretty fine jib yourself, mate," Mulder replied. Their daughter playfully rolled her eyes at the two of them. "Oh God, here we go!' She teased. Mulder looked at their daughter. She stood in front of him with an infant dressed in a white christening gown. Her child. His grandchild. The only other time Mulder had been this happy was when he helped bring his daughter into the world. Meena took one step towards her father as she cradled the infant in her arms. "Happy Holidays, Daddy." she said.

His life was complete. Everything that meant anything to him stood in that foyer; his life, his happiness, his love. In a moment of overwhelming love, Mulder embraced his daughter.

His arms went right through her. In a heartbeat, she and his grandchild were gone. His wife gone in the next heartbeat. One by one, everything he held dear, everything he knew in his life disappeared until he stood in a vast, empty void.

He was alone.

Mulder awoke to a dull, throbbing headache. He looked around, and realized he was in the front seat of his rental car. He looked down to see that he was wearing a pair of dark grey slacks and a black sports shirt. He found himself shivering in the cold car.

Or was he shivering in fear?

He had no idea where his daughter was, and if she was all right. He had no idea where his wife was, and if she was all right. In a day and a half, he had lost everything he held dear, and didn't know if he'd ever get them back.

The dream was over, and the nightmare had just begun.

Mulder's cel phone rang, and he immediately answered it. "Meena?" he replied. There was a pause on the other end before he heard Scully's voice. "Mulder? Have you heard from her?" "Scully..." Mulder replied. "No. I was hoping it was her." "Are you all right? Where are you?" Scully asked. Mulder rubbed his brow in an effort to erase his headache. "I was drugged. Scully, Krycek's involved in this. I found him when I was at Janus Biomedical. We need to follow this lead, Scully..." Scully cut him off gently. "Mulder, I need for you to get to the airport; can you drive?" "I don't think so," Mulder replied. He looked around to see where he was, and noticed a sign for public transportation. "It looks like I'm at a MARTA station; I think I might be in Manassas." "Stay there," Scully replied. "Byers will pick you up. I'll get a ticket for you to Atlanta - you can pick it up at the airport." "Atlanta?" Mulder replied. "There's a very good chance that Meena's there," Scully replied.

She hung up before she had to tell her husband there was a fifty percent chance their daughter was dead.


	16. Triage

Scully walked into ground zero of a major catastrophe as when she arrived at Buckhead General hospital. One of Atlanta's top three trauma centers, the facility was living up to its reputation. When Scully entered the hospital, she walked into a sea of green and blue scrubbed dressed men and women; some pushing gurneys as though they could break the sound barrier, some calling for supplies and information. More than one doctor walked past her with blood on their garments all working furiously because someone's life depended on it. Scully hoped that one of those lives belonged to her daughter.

Scully tried in vain to stop several doctors and ask them for information, but to no avail. As her level of frustration grew, she felt someone tap her on her shoulder. She turned to face a petite woman with dark auburn hair. The frantic look in her eyes perfectly mirrored all the emotions Scully held inside. "I'm sorry," the woman said, "do you work here? Are you an administrator? Please; I'm just trying to find my daughter. My husband's parking the car - we've called all the hospitals in the area, and they said my daughter might be here...." Before Scully could answer, the woman pleaded for an answer as much with her eyes as she did with her voice. "Please help me. I haven't seen my daughter in two days. We fought and I don't know if I'll ever see her again..."

The woman's voice cracked and she stopped, unable to finish the sentence. Scully gently touched the woman's arm. "Wait here; I'll see what I can do." Scully walked over to the nurse's station. It was obvious that the hospital was understaffed, especially in light of the current emergency. The RN on desk duty seemed permanently attached to the phone, no sooner did she finish one call than another call took its place. Scully realized that she was going to have to interrupt the phone conversation if she was ever going to get any answers. "Excuse me," Scully began. "One second," the RN replied as she cut her off. Scully tried again. "Excuse me.." "Excuse _me_" the nurse replied, "I'll be with you in one second." Scully finally took out her badge, and held it directly in front of the RN's nose. "Excuse me," Scully said firmly, "but you'll be with me right now." The RN could not ignore Scully or her badge; she put the call on hold. "What can I do for you?" the RN tersely replied. "I was told two Jane Does were brought into the hospital over the past twenty-four hours; is that correct?" "I don't know; I'll have to check," the RN replied. She went into the hospital's database to look for an answer. "Yes," the nurse replied, "that is correct. The physician on duty was Dr. Phillip Wescott." "Is he on duty now?" Scully asked. "Yes," the nurse replied, "I'll page him."

Scully never left her post at the nurse's station the five minutes it took for the doctor to arrive, and Dr. Wescott finally arrived after what seemed to be an eternity. Scully walked over to meet him after the nurse pointed her out to him. "What can I do for you, Agent?" he replied. It was obvious to Scully that the good doctor wanted to be anywhere than where he was at that moment. Scully showed the doctor her badge. "My name is Agent Dana S. Mulder, I'm with the Federal Bureau of Investigation," she began. "I was informed that you were the doctor on duty when two Jane Does were brought in." "That's correct," replied the doctor. "Have they been identified, and if not, I'd like to see them," Scully answered. "For questioning? Good luck," The doctor replied, "One's dead and one won't talk; she's been catatonic since they brought her in..." 

The sharp cry made both people turn around. The woman whom Scully agreed to help had moved closer to where Scully was standing, and overheard the conversation. She had grown pale and looked as though she may pass out at any time. When Scully turned around to address the doctor, he had moved down the hall, and was speaking to an associate. "Dr. Wescott, we are not finished," she called after him. "Well, please tell me when we are," the doctor snapped. Scully walked towards him and continued to speak as she walked. "Dr. Wescott, I don't know what kind of a day you've had, but I've just spent two and a half hours crammed in the last available seat on a full plane..." "Well, let me enlighten you, Agent;" the doctor replied. "Because some legislators with their heads up their asses decided eighty was a safe traveling speed on the interstate, I've spent the last eight hours in triage. Yep, that's right - the proverbial school bus full of kids lost control and rolled end over end down the road like a kid's toy, and I've been trying to put together what's left of them and those I can't, I've had to tell their parents. So forgive me if my bedside manner isn't what you would call adequate, Agent Mulder..."

"Mom? Mom?"

The two women heard the voice when they passed an open door. The woman who had befriended Scully was closest to the room. She ran back, and stood in the doorway. Scully didn't know what would happen next, and unsure of what to do, she stayed in behind. If it was the woman's daughter, she didn't want to intrude on her family reunion. If it was the woman's daughter, it would also mean that her daughter Meena, was DOA. Scully held her breath, and waited to see what the woman would do next. 

The woman stopped and stood in the doorway. After a minute, she went inside.

Scully's heart stopped.

"Agent Mulder, are we finished here?" Dr. Wescott asked. "No," Scully replied. "I need to see your morgue." Something in Scully's voice made Dr. Wescott pause. "I'll take you there," he replied. "It's right this way."

It took every ounce of strength Scully possessed to move from that spot. As she turned to leave, she saw the woman come out of the room, burry her head in her hands, and weep. Instinct told Scully to go over to the woman. When Scully reached the woman, she looked up at her.

"It's not her," she replied, and began to sob uncontrollably.

"Mom?"

Scully walked into the room, and faced her missing daughter.

"Mom, I'm so sorry.... I'm so sorry, Mommie; I didn't mean to make you worry..."

Scully embraced her daughter and said a thousand Hail Marys in thanksgiving that her daughter was alive. When her tears and those of her daughter subsided, Scully kissed her daughter on the cheek, and told her she would return.

When the woman was able, Scully went with her to the morgue and stayed with her until the woman's husband arrived.

Meena had been given a light sedative, and was asleep when Scully came back to her room. For a minute, she stood in the doorway, almost holding her breath. She closed her eyes and waited for the cruel twist of fate that would take away her daughter when she opened them. After a minute, she opened her eyes.

Meena was still there.

Scully entered the room, and stood at her daughter's bedside. As she looked down upon her sleeping child, Scully could still see the bruises and finger marks on her daughter's face and neck. While the sight shocked Scully, she knew how it would effect Mulder when he saw how his daughter had been abused. She knew that there was nothing she could say or do to soften the blow. In an effort to arm herself with information, Scully reached for the patient PDA on the nightstand. As she reached for the PDA, a light came on and the message "downloading patient update" flashed on the screen. Frustrated, Scully realized that if she wanted immediate information she was going to have to get in the old fashioned way. As Scully began to leave Meena's side, she turned over from her side on to her back. Scully waited to see if she would awaken, and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. As she did this, Meena's arm drifted across her stomach.

It was flat; perfectly flat.

Scully quickly moved out of Meena's room and over to the nurses' station. "I need you to page Dr. Wescott, please," she asked the nurse on duty. Dr. Wescott had his back to Scully, and turned around to face her. "No need," he said as he came out from behind the desk and stood in front of her. "What can I do for you, Agent?" "The second Jane Doe brought in while you were on duty is Melissa Wilhelmina Mulder, and if she sounds like she's related, she is. She's my daughter and because she's my daughter I know she was pregnant. Don't ask me to look at her patient PDA because I can't get at it. I need answers now - specifically, what happened to her child, and how did she get to your hospital?"


	17. Hard Labor

Andrew Covington was two car lengths behind Meena as they reached the stoplight across from Dr. Broadstreet's office. At first, the car hesitated as though she were waiting for him to catch up; then at the last minute, she sped through the yellow light and went into the parking garage. Because of that little maneuver and his delay at the traffic light, Meena got the last available parking space on the ground floor. When Andrew pulled into the garage and passed her parked car, he could see her watching his car in her rear view mirror. Their eyes met for a brief moment, but it was as if she didn't see him at all. Andrew followed the yellow lines to another floor, and as he drove, he thought about their conversation at the diner. Had she begun to trust him a little? He couldn't tell. But one thing was certain; he never expected her to come this far. He never expected her to come at all. Andrew's search for a parking space brought him to yet another floor. Neither he nor Meena had anticipated that there wouldn't be any parking this late in the day. But there were a number of things they hadn't anticipated.

Andrew went over the day's events and the events that had led both of them to this moment. In light of the circumstances, he decided that he really couldn't fault her for being suspicious, and he wouldn't have been surprised at all if she had turned him down like the others. But he knew something was different about her the moment he spoke to her on the phone and in the van on their way from the conference. She was a passionate woman, and inquisitive woman. A woman who had an insatiable thirst for knowledge and the truth it provided.

Andrew finally found a parking space, and pulled into it. As he turned off the ignition, he felt a slight twinge near his temple. "Oh God, please God no," he thought as he tried to rub the pain away. He rested his head against the steering wheel, breathing deeply in and out; trying to wait out the pain. They were on the verge of finding out the truth - he didn't have time for this...

The headaches had not happened until after the conference- of this fact, he was certain. They were unpredictable and intense, and left him incapacitated for hours and sometimes days. Even though he doubted they were migraines, he endured hours of tests and bottle after bottle of medication. Nothing worked.

No, the headaches never happened until after the conference; he was positive he was right.

Sometimes, during the worst headaches, he would see visions of things that made no sense; people he didn't recognize, instruments and rooms. Come to think of it, he thought he'd seen Meena, or someone who looked like her during one of these visions, but....

Andrew tried to contact the other participants, but to no avail. He couldn't reach half of them, and the ones he did reach spoke with him once and the disappeared. It was as if the earth had swallowed them whole, to coin a familiar phrase.

That all changed when he met Meena and when they began this journey, this search for what had happened to them. Their search for the truth.

The pain subsided after a minute, and Andrew opened his eyes. "Sometimes, a headache is simply that - a headache," he mused to himself. He got out of the car, and went to the elevator. As he waited for the car to arrive, he made a mental note to insist that Meena call her parents at the first available opportunity. Meena. "That's the first time you haven't thought of her as Dr. Mulder," he chuckled out loud. 

Andrew grew impatient with the elevator, and decided to take the stairs down to Dr. Broadstreet's office. He went down two flights of stairs, sometimes taking two at a time. He finally reached Dr. Broadstreet's floor, opened the door, and went into the hallway. Andrew noticed that this hallway was different from the one he and Meena had been in earlier. He quickly decided that this was a back entrance to Dr. Broadstreet's lab, and walked down the hall. An arrow pointed him in the right direction.

That direction wouldn't prepare him for what he would see next.

Andrew heard a scream as he placed a hand on the doorknob. He quickly opened the door, and found himself on the opposite end of the lab. He had to blink; he saw himself standing on the other side of the lab, holding Meena by the neck in mid-air. He saw the glint of light bounce off the point of the needle as it came down...

"LET HER GO!" he screamed. The needle stopped in mid-arch, and Andrew watched as his twin changed before his eyes. He now stood in front of a tall, blond man with harsh features and a square jaw. "Well, aren't I the lucky one?" the man said. He tossed Meena to the side as though she were a rag doll. "Three in one day. I might just have time to buy souvenirs after all..."

Andrew lunged for the man, and was knocked backwards by one swift arm movement from the killer. As he hit the ground, there was a sharp, intense pain that griped his head like a vise. 

As Andrew raised his head off the ground, his attacker could see that his eyes were black as oil.

All of a sudden, an intense, blinding white light began to emanate from Andrew's body and engulf the room. The attacker suddenly doubled over in pain as boils began to erupt all over his flesh. He stumbled out of the room, the automatic door shutting behind him. Minutes later, there was a sickening pop as his head exploded.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over.

Andrew had no recollection of what had just happened when he came to. He looked over and saw the body of Dr. Broadstreet on the floor; a few feet in front of her was Meena.

"Oh, my God, Meena!" 

Andrew rushed over to her side. She was so still... He gingerly reached towards her neck to take her pulse. Just as his fingers touched her neck, she came to. When she saw Andrew, she tried to scream, but nothing came out - not a sound. She began to beat her fists at his chest, his face, his arms - anything in an attempt to get away. "Meena, Meena it's me; I won't harm you..."

"AhhhhAHHHHHHHHH!" Meena finally found her voice. She tried to back away from him until she doubled over in pain.

Meena was in labor. Hard labor. The next wave of pain was so intense that she fainted.

Andrew picked her up, and carried her out to her rental car. Rather than search through her pocket for the keys, he broke the window out on the driver's side. He placed her next to him, hot wired the car, and sped out of the parking lot. As he was driving, Meena regained consciousness once more and began to scream. She grabbed for the steering wheel, in an effort to steer the car off the road. Another wave of pain hit Meena and she doubled over, tears streaming down her face. She leaned her head against the glass and fainted again.

Andrew pulled up to the emergency doors of Buckhead General hospital. The car came to a screeching halt, and Andrew pulled Meena out from the passenger side of the car. "Help! I need some help here, please!" The nurses and orderlies saw what was happening on the other side of the swinging door, and rushed out with a gurney. They placed Meena on top of it, ad wheeled her into an emergency bay. "She's in labor; she's in labor and in shock," He gasped.

The headache was starting again.

He never heard the admitting nurse call out to him as he stumble down the hallway. He half ran, half stumbled through a door and into a stairwell. It was here that he collapsed.

The last thing he saw before the world went dark was a pair of black, wing-tipped shoes. 

********************************************************************

"Was this the man who bought my daughter in?" Scully asked. She reached into her jacket, pulled out a photo, and showed it to Dr. Wescott. "I really don't know, Agent Mulder," he replied, "I wasn't in the admitting area when she arrived." "Who was the admitting nurse when she got here?" "I'm not sure, let's look at her chart." Scully and Dr. Wescott walked the few short steps to the desk. "Nurse Dawson," asked Dr. Wescott, "could you look up admitting information for a patient? Last name Mulder?" The nurse logged into the patient database. "What did you need to know?" he asked. "Do we know who was with the patient when she was admitted?" "No," the nurse replied, "No information. But I could have told you that - I was on duty when she came in." Scully handed the male nurse Andrew Covington's photo. "Did he look anything like this man?" she asked. The nurse looked at the picture, and nodded his head. "Yep; that's him. We tried to find him to ask if he knew anything else about the patient - name, next of kin, but it was like he vanished into thin air. But I'm sure that's him; I'm positive."

"What about the baby? What's the baby's prognosis, and how is my daughter?" asked Scully. "Your daughter delivered a six pound, five ounce baby boy by cesarean section," answered the doctor. "He's a little smaller than we like to see, but we've delivered smaller babies who've done just fine. How far along did you say your daughter was, Agent?" "I didn't," Scully replied. She knew better than try to explain the circumstances surrounding her daughter's pregnancy. "And Meena? Is she alright?" "Take a look for yourself," replied the doctor. "They've just updated her chart; we can go and take a look at her patient PDA now, if you'd like."

Scully and Doctor Wescott walked down to Meena's room. Scully was the first to reach the door.

Meena was gone.

Scully closed her eyes again; hoping that fate had not changed its mind and decided to be cruel and malevolent. When she opened her eyes again, Meena was still missing. Dr. Wescott reached Meena's room. "She's gone, doctor; she was here a minute ago, and now she's gone," Scully replied. It took every ounce of strength and courage not to reveal the panic in her voice. "Nurse!" Doctor Wescott called out, "call Security and tell them we have a possible missing patient." "Right away, doctor," the nurse replied.

As they began their search for Meena, Scully entered Meena's room and like a good investigator, began to look for clues.

When Scully read the information on Meena's patient PDA, she instantly knew where she was.

Scully took the elevator to the neo-natal intensive care unit, and got out. As she stood in front of the elevator, she looked down the corridor for her daughter. She finally saw here, standing in front of a glass window. Meena's hand was on the glass in front of her. She looked so small, the sights and sounds engulfing her as though she was a little girl again, lost in a crowd of strangers. Scully walked up to her daughter and stood beside her. The two women stood silently side by side, and looked into the intensive care nursery. In the incubator before them laid an infant, Meena's son. Scully's grandson. 

Scully didn't need the look on her daughter's face to tell her the news wasn't good.

************************************************************************

Mulder raced through the corridors of Buckhead General hospital, searching for his family.

The Lone Gunmen got him on a flight where there had been no seats; the non-stop flight sped through the night but even supersonic speed wasn't fast enough for Mulder. As the plane soared through the sky to Atlanta, certain scenes raced through his mind: the first time he met Scully; her face the first time she saw him after his disappearance; their wedding. His daughter's birth.

The last time he saw his daughter alive. 

Mulder drove through the streets of Atlanta; a part of him thought that if he drove fast enough he could suspend time or if he were lucky enough, reverse it so that he could have a chance to make things right, a chance to save his daughter.

"Please God," he thought, "save my daughter"

He finally found his wife and his daughter in the neo-natal intensive care ward of Buckhead General. He got off the elevator, and walked down the long corridor to the glassed-in nursery in front of him. When he told the nurse who he was, she gave him scrubs, a mask and paper slippers to wear in the nursery. His wife looked up and saw him just as he entered.

Scully was standing next to their daughter. For a moment, he noticed the bruises on her neck, and a wave of anger washed over him. 

A wave that was quelled only by the sight of his grandchild. 

Meena cradled the infant in her arms. She had drifted into sleep. Scully gently took the infant from Meena's arms, and kissed her daughter on her forehead. Scully faced Mulder; the look in her eyes told him all he needed to know.

"Hold your grandson, Fox," Scully replied.

Scully placed his grandson in his arms. He pulled the mask down from his face, and bent his face towards his grandson. He kissed his grandson on the forehead. As he did this, the baby reached towards Mulder's face. 

The infant touched Mulder's cheek, and sighed.


	18. Kaddish

Little Dana Foxwilliam Mulder knew more love in his short lifetime than most people know in fifty, and the people who gathered together to mourn his passing experienced a grief beyond measure, an unending bottomless sorrow that knew no bounds. The family closed ranks around Meena and each other, each member trying to understand how a God that was merciful could take a life before its fruition. All hoped in some way that the mercy and compassion of God; the love and understanding of a higher being would wash over them, help and comfort them.

And in time, help them understand.

Meena walked down the aisle towards the small, white casket, flanked on either side by her mother and father. As she walked, she looked at the people who came to the service. Each face the face of a loved one; each face with a memory and a story. Each face a part of her life. Each face she had hoped one day would be a part of her child's life.

But it wasn't meant to be.

Meena saw her "Uncle Frokee" as she walked, his eyes brimming with tears behind his thick glasses. She remembered what he had told her once. "Chickadee, as long as you don't call me Uncle Melvin, I'll give you everything your folks will let you have, and what they won't will be our little secret." How he would have loved his Great Uncle! The hours and days they would have spent discovering the wonders of the world around them.

But that would never happen. Not now; not ever.

A few rows ahead sat Uncle Walt. Before he was her Godfather, he had been her mother and father's boss. In time, he became their friend and staunch supporter. He was the third person to hold her after she was born. He was the second person to arrive to the house... After.... He came all the way up from Florida. He loved babies; her mother told her that once. He would have loved holding her son.

But that would never happen. Not now; not ever.

One of the last faces she saw was her Uncle Bill's. Although nobody ever mentioned it, she knew that he and her father did not get along. She never saw much of her Uncle, especially with her father. The few times she saw them in a room together, both men wore strained and forced expressions on their faces; forced smiles painted on their lips that looked like they would crack into a million pieces at any moment. For the first time ever in her life, she didn't see that expression on her Uncle Bill's face. Had her son lived, her Uncle Bill might have come to the house more often, eventually burying whatever animosity there was between him and her father long enough to know her son.

But that would never happen. Not now; not ever.

Meena and her parents stood in front of the small, white casket. It was closed, just as she had requested. She knew she would never make it through the service if she saw her child in the casket; she knew she would never make it if she had to watch as the lid was lowered, or if she had to lower it herself. For a second, she thought her knees would buckle until she felt her father's hand, sure, strong and steady, on her elbow holding her up. She felt her mother squeeze her hand, and she looked into her strong and gentle eyes. 

Although Meena was raised Catholic, she requested an ecumenical service that reflect her mother's Catholic faith and her father's Jewish beliefs. They were both a part of her, and in turn, both a part of her son. Meena didn't hear the words at the service; all she could see were lips that moved, bodies that turned. It was as if she were watching the whole thing behind a soundproof glass wall. She didn't even realize the service had ended until they wheeled the small, white casket and stopped next to her. She stared at it blankly.

"Meena, sweetheart," her mother began. "We're right here," her father finished for both of them. Meena nodded, and stood up.

****************************************************************************** 

The gunmetal gray sky was heavy with the threat of snow as they made their way to the cemetery. The plot they had chosen was under a tall oak tree in the farthest corner of the land, away from everything else. It was a quiet place; a place that would give him and anyone who visited shade and comfort on sunny days, and protection from cruel and harsh winds. 

It would protect and comfort Mulder's grandson for eternity.

Mulder's heart broke as he watched his daughter stand next to her child's grave. His heart broke as he looked at his wife. Only one other time in his life did he feel so helpless, so powerless. 

One by one, the guests made their way back to their cars. In a few minutes, he, his wife, and their daughter stood next to the open grave. Alone. Meena picked a yellow rose from one of the funeral arrangements, knelt down, and gently tossed it onto her child's coffin. She stood up. The three of them stood silently next to the grave, each not willing or able to move. His wife, as always, was the stronger family member. She turned to go, and a few scant seconds later, he turned to follow her.

"Daddy...."

He and his wife turned around to face their daughter. Mulder wrapped his arm around Meena's shoulder, and she rest her head on his shoulder. Mulder wrapped his free arm around Scully's waist as she buried her head against his chest. At that moment, Mulder did the only thing he could think of .

He tilted back his head, closed his eyes, and silently prayed the Kadish, the prayer of remembrance for the dead. 

He prayed in memory of his grandson.

**********************************************************************

A sky pregnant and heavy with snow finally gave birth to soft, glistening white flakes that fell to the earth below. Sparkling and white, gleaming and bright, they fell in steady succession, one after the other until they covered the ground in a fluffy blanket of white by the time the last of the funeral guests had left the Mulder residence. Mulder found his daughter where he knew she would be - in front of the window, watching it snow.

He remembered the first time he saw her in front of the window in this house, her special window. Mulder, Scully and their infant daughter lived in Scully's apartment for the first two and a half years of their daughter's life. When precocious little Meena discovered she could push a phone book over to the front door and open it, they decided they needed to have a house with a fenced-in yard, or at least a heavier front door. They spent the day driving around, looking at houses - not an easy thing to do with an almost three year old. The small family arrived at the last house at four on a Sunday afternoon, and were just tired enough to half-listen to the real estate agent go on ad infinitum on how this was the perfect house in a perfect neighborhood - just right for a new family. The couple was ready to leave when they realized Meena wasn't with them. Scully raced for the stairs while Mulder looked on the ground floor.

He found his little girl standing in the den, tippie-toed up to her highest height with hands on the windowsill, watching it snow. 

Mulder, not wanting to disturb or frighten her, slowly walked up to her and knelt down. When he reached her, she turned to face him with sparkling amazement shining in her hazel eyes.

They signed the papers that afternoon, and the first modification Mulder made on the house was to enlarge the window in the den. In the years to come, the large picture window in the den was Meena's spot. She went there when she was happy; she went there when she was sad. It was here that Mulder found her after the last guest had left. He walked over to her slowly so as not to disturb her. When he stood next to her, he noticed that she touched the glass, almost as if she were reaching out for something. Someone. The stood there in silence for a brief eternity before she spoke.

"He would have loved the snow," she said quietly. "I know," Mulder replied. "His mother loved it." "Oh Daddy, you should have seen him," Meena said. "His tiny little fingers were perfectly formed; his tiny little feet. He had the softest eyelashes that curled almost into a perfect spiral... He was perfect. How does a baby so perfect, so beautiful, so alive... How does he die?" Meena turned to look at her father. The pain in her eyes sliced through his heart like cold steel. "This family will never bury another child. I promise you that," Mulder said. 

For the first time since her baby's death, Meena cried.

Mulder embraced his daughter as the tears came slowly at first, and held her tighter as they poured out of her in racking, gasping sobs. He couldn't help but shed a few tears himself. He held her as long as he needed to; he held her until her tears stopped.

Scully went into the den to look for Mulder and Meena, and found the two of them huddled together in front of the picture window. She stood in the doorway, but did not go in. Scully knew Meena loved both of them, but she knew that Mulder and Meena shared a bond unlike any other. There would be time enough for Scully and her daughter later.

Mulder held Meena in his arms. She had stopped crying for now, and was silent. He could feel the warm dampness of her tears as they soaked his shirt. Meena was quiet, very quiet and still. After a few seconds, Mulder checked to see if she had cried herself to sleep.

"Meena...? Sweetheart?" he began.

She didn't answer.

"Meena?" Mulder slowly pulled his daughter away from his chest. When he saw her face, his blood ran cold.

Blood was running from her nose, trickling down her face in a steady stream. Her eyes had rolled back into her head. In the next instant, he looked down and realized his shirt wasn't stained with her tears....

....It was stained with her blood. 

********************************************************************

"I NEED A GURNEY AND A DOCTOR IN THE PARKING LOT, STAT!" 

Scully ran into the emergency ward of Georgetown General Hospital, and was met halfway down the corridor by the Chief Medical Resident. "Where's the problem?" the doctor asked. Scully grabbed her by the arm, and began to lead her out to the parking lot. "The patient is 23;" Scully began, "there's evidence of cerebral hemorrhaging. Her pulse is thready; blood pressure is dropping rapidly..."

The double doors swung open to reveal Mulder as he carried their daughter in his arms. "Help! We need help! I need a doctor...." Scully ran up to her husband, the doctor and emergency team following in her wake. "OK - let's get her on a gurney and into an examining room," the doctor ordered. "Who are you to this woman?" the doctor asked as they rushed through the hallway. "I'm her father," Mulder replied, "this is my wife. Please. You've got to help her..." "We'll do everything we can...," the doctor began...

Suddenly, Meena's body stiffened and went into violent convulsions. The medical team began to run faster..

"She's seizing up, people, let's get a move on!" The doctor yelled as she shoved the curtain to the emergency bay out of the way. As they wheeled Meena in, Mulder felt someone grab his arm.

"Folks," the nurse said, "I'm going to have to ask you to wait out in the waiting area..." Scully stopped. "I'm a medical doctor; I was with her when the incident occurred. I want to be with her - I can help her..."

Scully and Mulder watched as a crash cart was wheeled in during the melee. "Nurse," the doctor ordered, "show her where she can scrub up, and tell her she needs to be quick about it."

The last thing Mulder saw before they shut the curtain was Meena on the examination table and his wife's face. "Help her," he mouthed. 

Scully nodded before the curtain obscured them both from his sight.

****************************************************************************

Time moved slowly as Mulder waited for news. The nurse had brought him a scrub shirt, but he didn't want to change the shirt he was wearing. It was the last thing Meena had touched before she... It was the closest he could be to her right now, and he wasn't going to give that up.

Mulder paced the floor until his feet ached; walked the corridor until his legs throbbed in pain. Only when he could no longer move did he sit down in the waiting area. He stared at the double doors, willing them to open; willing Scully and his daughter to come through them so that they could go home. Together. He was at the point of exhaustion when he finally sat down and unaware of how tired he was. Despite his best efforts, he drifted into semi-sleep.

He was in a field filled with bright wildflowers. The sun shone high and bright in a cloudless and clear blue sky. He heard laughter coming from a distance....

"Fox! Fox! Where are you?"

He looked to his left, and in the distance, saw a young girl in pigtails, She sat in a swing tied to a massive tree branch, and was swinging as high as she could go. Suddenly, she let go of the swing and became airborne. Mulder ran towards her as she floated to earth. "Samantha?" he called. 

"Fox! Fox! Come quick!"

Mulder ran towards the little girl, but as he got closer, the little girl changed. As he ran towards the girl, he realized it wasn't his sister at all, but his daughter; his six year-old daughter running and leaping through the flowers. 

"Daddy! Daddy! Come quick!"

"Meena? Meena; I'm here!" Mulder called back. He ran faster, but instead of getting closer to his little girl he was moving father and farther away.

"Daddy?"

Suddenly, his daughter - his grown-up daughter was behind him. He turned to face her.

"Daddy, don't forget me."

She suddenly began to move away from him. He reached out to catch her, but could not.

"Meena! Meena!" Mulder called out to her, trying to stop her, but she moved away until he was left standing in the field alone.

"Mulder...?"

Mulder awoke with a start. Scully was kneeling in front of him. Her eyes brimming with tears.

"I couldn't... We did everything...." 

Two tears coursed their way down either side of her face. Mulder reached out, and gently cupped her face in his hands.

"She's gone. She's gone."

******************************************************************************

Mulder and Scully held each other in the waiting area. Both grieved for the loss of their child with a pain so unimaginable they were certain it would kill them, and prayed that it would. Their hopes and dreams for the future, their memories of the past all taken away in the span of a few short hours. They rocked back and forth; him rocking her and her him in an effort to comfort a pain that knew no comfort. After a while, Mulder spoke. "I want to see her. Can we see her?" "Mulder," Scully began. "I know what I'm walking into," Scully replied, "but I want to see her. Now. Not in a coffin. Just us. Just us."

Scully gently took Mulder by the hand, and led him to the emergency bay. It was unusually quiet, as if all activity had ceased in respect for the recent dead. The curtain was drawn, and Scully stopped in front of it before she opened it. Mulder nodded, and she pulled back the curtain.

The orderlies had not pulled the sheet over Meena's face, and it rested just under her chin, tucked in as though she were asleep. Her still and quiet face betrayed nothing of the struggle and pain she had been through. She looked peaceful. Mulder walked over and stood next to her body and touched her face.

It was still warm.

Mulder knelt down next to her, resting his head against her forehead, and wept. Scully knelt next to him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, it was as much to comfort herself as it was to console him. As Mulder laid his head on his daughter's forehead, he noticed something strange. Her forehead, his dead daughter's forehead, was becoming increasingly warm. Almost hot to the touch. Startled, Mulder raised his head. "Mulder? What is it?" Scully asked. "Something's wrong, Scully..." 

The two of them quickly discovered what. They watched in horror as their daughter's body quickly decomposed into a gelatinous, green mass. 


	19. My Best Girl

" 'Christmas in June,' you say?! `Impossible!' But not at Plum and Tucker's Mega Monster Midnight Madness Marathon! Folks, we're practically giving away air conditioners, washers, dryers, refrigerators - all at cost. 'So why should I care?' you ask.....?" Scully turned off the television. 

"Good question," she thought to herself. 

It was the same question she found herself asking over the last six months. Since Meena's disappearance, she and her husband had just gone through the motions; their only thoughts about their missing daughter. Although her absence was hard to bear, Scully was amazed at how brutally simple their lives had become. Wake up in the morning, think about Meena; go to work, look for Meena and do just enough work to justify their presence on the X-Files; go to bed, thinking about Meena. 

Go to bed, but in recent weeks, not together. Not since May 15. Meena's birthday.

At first, Scully would wait up in bed, pretending to read books she had no interest in, or stare blankly at talking heads on the TV. screen. The clock would strike ten, then eleven, then twelve, then one. She would then go downstairs to find Mulder asleep in the den, his head resting on one wing of the wing-backed chair in next to the picture window - Meena's window. The phone sat next to him as though he were waiting for Meena to call and tell him she was in danger of missing curfew. But the phone never rang. "Mulder," she would say softly, "it's late; come to bed." "I'll be up in a minute," he'd reply. "Don't wait up for me."

Finally, one night she didn't.

And so this became their sleeping arrangement. She upstairs in bed, he in the chair by the picture window, both thinking of Meena and how much it hurt not to have her near.

When Scully turned off the t.v. in the den, the DVD drawer opened as it was programmed to do. The drawer rotated away from the laser lens and stopped, facing Scully. She read the label. "Sweet Sixteen" was the title.

Scully's mother began her campaign to give her youngest girl's daughter a proper sweet sixteen party months in advance. She left menus from the Naval Officer's Club strategically placed around her house when Scully came to visit; she reminded Scully how much fun she and her sister had at their parties. Scully gently pointed out to her mother that she spent most of the evening hiding from her parent-picked escort and that her sister Melissa and her boyfriend had to be forcibly ejected from the back seat of a Mustang by their father and two guards. Her mother finally pulled out the "I don't know how many years I have left and your father would be so proud" strategies. They worked.

Mulder had planned to tape the whole affair when he was told he could not. When he asked why, he was gently but firmly informed that the Officers Club did not allow cameras or any type of video recording device as a matter of security and because they were considered "tacky" "Clearly the Navy hasn't heard of - whaBAM!- the Daddycam!" Langley replied when Mulder went to the Lone Gunmen for help. Like a scene out of Mission Impossible, Mulder and the Lone Gunmen snuck into the Officer's club, and set up dozens of tiny hidden video devices in the plants and the floral arrangements. "This place has more bugs than New Jersey," Frohicke said, "and the beauty is the Navy will never be able to find them, proving once again 'military intelligence' is indeed an oxymoron." When Mulder finally told her months latter what they did, she wasn't sure whether to thank them or kill them. Now, in light of Meena's disappearance, she couldn't thank them enough.

Scully's memories traveled back to Meena's party. Meena was resplendent in a white ballgown with a full skirt that billowed with yards and yards of taffeta and tulle. Scully had pulled her dark auburn hair back into a very grown-up and sophisticated French Twist. Scully looked at the young woman with the beautiful ballgown and long white gloves with a mixture of pride and a little sadness. Her little girl wasn't so little anymore.

Meena and Mulder went out onto the dance floor for their first dance. Instead of the traditional "Blue Danube" waltz, Meena had made a surprise request....

"Your my best girl, and nothing will ever harm you..." 

Scully smiled when she heard the familiar strains of Meena and Mulder's song. "Mame" had been Meena's favorite musical ever since she was a little girl, and Mulder had played the tape for her when she was home sick with the flu. Meena first learned to waltz to "My Best Girl" in the typical way all little girls do. Many was the time Scully had seen Mulder reach for her hands and lift her onto his feet so they could whirl around the room.

Scully watched as Meena and her father glided across the dance floor. They had only been dancing for a short while when Meena suddenly stopped. "Wait a minute," she said. Then in front of all her guests, in the middle of the stuffy Naval Officer's Club, she took of her shoes, and held out her arms. Mulder took her by the hands and steadied her as she placed her right foot on his right foot, and her left on his. "That's better," she said, and rested her head against her father's chest.

"....And if, someday, some other beau comes along, determined to take your place,

he'll have to be fine with coming behind my best beau..."

Mulder awoke with a start. "I'll be up in a minute," he replied, more asleep than awake. "Don't bother," Scully replied. The confused, hurt look on Mulder's face was like a punch in the stomach. "It's 7:15 - time to get up. We have to go to the office."


	20. Whispers, Rumors and Ghosts

Mulder walked into the lobby of the J. Edgar Hoover building at the FBI. The elevators Bureau staff normally used were under repair, so all employees had to use the freight elevators to go to all floors. This gave the staff the feeling of cattle being herded into a chute, but it left the stairs as the only other choice. And so people stood in line, one behind the other, and waited for their turn at the elevator.

Mulder stood in the crowd along with his fellow Bureau employees. As he waited for the elevator, he caught wind of a conversation between two rookie agents of the FBI.

"Is that him?" asked one of the agents. "Uh-huh," her companion replied. "Wow," the other agent said, "they really do exist." "The X-Files," her fellow agent said, "or the couple Spooky?" "Both - how are you going to have one without the other?" The two agents continued their conversation, unaware that the subject of it could hear everything they said.

"It's so sad," the female agent said. "I heard the only reason why they dragged the X-Files out of mothballs was because the daughter - their daughter - ran away...." "No, you've got it all wrong," said the male agent, "she was abducted, but by little green men or men of a different sort, who knows? It seems to be an occupational hazard in that family." "How do you mean?" "First, his sister was abducted," the man continued, "then his wife - this before they even got married - then _him_. Kind of makes you wonder what they talk about around the dinner table..."

The elevator arrived, and the crowd shifted forward. The female agent continued to pick the male agent's brain. "So why are they called Mr and Mrs Spooky?" she asked. The last one to get on the elevator, Mulder turned to face the inquisitive pair. "Because on some nights, when the moon is full, I grow pointy ears and fangs and my wife's head spins around on its neck," he replied.

Mulder watched as the doors closed on the two bewildered people.

*****************************************************************************

Scully had her back to the door when Mulder arrived at their office. Sensing someone was behind her, she turned around. There was an awkward silence between the two of them. Scully, still feeling guilty about the way things had turned out earlier, tried to make amends. "I was going to go get some coffee - did you want some?" Mulder shook his head. "I can go upstairs and get a bagel," she asked. "I picked up something on the way in," replied Mulder. Scully nodded. "Oh; O.K." she replied.

The room was silent as Mulder walked past her, and sat down at his desk. Scully paused for a moment, then picked up her coffee mug. She was about to leave the room when Skinner's son, Assistant Director Walter Skinner, Jr., appeared in the doorway. "Do you have a minute, agents?" he asked. "Of course - make yourself at home," Mulder replied. "What can we do for you?" asked Scully. "I received an invitation by way of the Attorney General's office. It seems that the AG was invited but can't go to a function overseas in London. In the interest of international relations, we can't turn down the invitation..." "Isn't that why we have a Vice President?" asked Mulder. "It's not that kind of an affair," Walter Jr. continued. "It's an invitation from Scotland Yard to attend a banquet in honor of one of their officials. Special Investigative Director Phoebe Montague of the Yard. It seems you worked with her once - she used to be known as Pheobe Green..."

When he heard the name, Mulder wondered what his wife was thinking at that very moment. When she heard the name, Scully wondered if anyone saw her back stiffen.

The two of them were so quiet that the AD was compelled to speak. "Agents, I am well aware the two of you are involved in an on-going investigation, in addition to your other duties. But the fact of the matter is that this is a matter of PR both for the Bureau and the X-Files." He paused for a minute before he spoke, "I'm sure you know its no secret many people question the real reason why the X-Files have been re-opened. And I'm not my father - I only have so much influence, and I'm limited by what I can do..." "Funny; it seems I've heard that before. When was it? 19..." Scully replied.

Skinner's son was not taking "no" for an answer. "Your flight leaves tomorrow for Heathrow airport. You'll be there for approximately a week. Any questions?" Mulder and Scully shook their heads. "Good. If you'd like, you can wrap up things here and go home and pack."

The junior Skinner left the office. Mulder and Scully looked at each other, both not knowing who should go first. It was no secret that Phoebe Green was *persona non grata* in their relationship because of her past with Mulder. In fact, it was that past and Scully's reaction to it that made Scully first realize her feelings for Mulder - that and when she saw the two of them lip-locked in the lobby of a hotel during an assignment many years ago. The only time they mentioned Phoebe's name was when they both decided never to mention it again.

Mulder was the first to break the silence. "I know how you feel about this, Scully - you don't need to say it. There has to be a way around this..." "You heard Junior," Scully replied, "this came down from the Attorney General. And far be it from us to create an international incident." "I knew her better than you did," Mulder began, then realized he'd put his foot in his mouth. "What I meant to say is.... That maybe since I was the one who worked with her, maybe I could go, and you can stay here - that is, if that's what you want." "It's a dinner, Mulder. Don't be silly. I'm perfectly alright with this. We'll go, put on our best bib and tucker, and try not to say anything that would cause Great Britain to sever ties with the U.S." Scully turned too quickly to see the look of relief on Mulder's face. "It's settled, then. Let me get some coffee, we'll tie up things here, and go home and pack."

Scully thought about her husband's suggestion as she left the room. "Leave you alone in London with Pyro Spice?" thought Scully. "Not on your life!"

****************************************************************************

Heathrow Airport was a hub of activity. People rushed to and fro, and it seemed that as soon as one plane left, another one arrived to take its place. The two young women stood at the gate, one at the airport to see her friend off, the other to make her first trip "across the pond" to America. "Well," said the young blonde, "We're off!" She bounced the baby she was holding in her arms one last time. "So what do you think, Nigel? Think Mummie would let you travel across with Auntie Charlotte to see the Big Apple?" "Hardly!" the young brunette replied. She took the young baby from her friend's arms. "Really Em, I was only kidding..." The auburn-haired beauty held her child tight. "It will be years before he's ever ready to leave his Mummie; isn't that right, Nigel?" "Meena Cartwright! You're impossible!" 

The six-month old little boy played with his mother's auburn locks, twirling and entwining his chubby little fingers around each strand. "Oh, he's such a cutie. Wonder where he got all those red curls?" Charlotte asked "obviously a recessive gene from somewhere - both you and Drew are dark-haired." 

The final boarding call was announced, and Charlotte hugged her friend. "I'd better be on this flight, or my husband will send the Yard out to look for me! Oh - thank you for taking those invitations for us. Can't go for obvious reasons, but no reason why you and Drew shouldn't have fun. We'll see you soon!"

The young mother waved to her friend as she walked down the airway. "Say good-bye to Auntie Charlotte," she told her son, and picked up his arm to wave. Once her friend had disappeared, she placed the baby in the carrier that was slung across the front of her body. "There we are; all sung," she said. "Shall we go and watch the bags go round and round the carousel? Give Mummie the chance to avoid traffic a little while?" The baby giggled with approval.

Mulder and Scully got off of their long flight, eager to stretch their tired and aching bones. "Is someone supposed to meet us?" Scully asked. She looked around, craning her already stiff neck to look for a sign with their names on it. Mulder, having the advantage of height, surveyed the crowd. "I don't see anybody, Scully. Wait here; I'll go pick up our luggage. If someone shows up, meet me at the baggage claim."

The auburn-haired mother and her redheaded son walked up to the gates of the baggage claim, and were stopped by a guard. "Sorry 'mam," he said. "I can't let you go any further without a claim ticket." "Oh, that's quite alright," the young woman replied. "My little boy loves to watch the baggage roundabout. Is there anywhere we can stand out of the way?" The baby she held was so cute that the guard relented. "Tell you what, I think that if you stand a little bit to me left, you should get a perfect look at the baggage area." "Thank you," she replied.

The baby gurgled and laughed with glee as he and his mother watched the bags go round and round and round. As the young woman with the auburn hair watched, she saw a man walk past her about twenty feet away...

...And the headache she thought she'd been cured of came back.

She looked away, rubbing her temple in an effort to ease her pain. When she looked up, the man had crossed back in front of her and stopped. It appeared as though her were looking right at her. A group of people walked between them, blocking her view.

When they moved, the man was gone, and in that instant, so was her headache. 

Mulder walked through the crowded baggage area, trying to find which of the many carousels was the one that was connected to their flight. For a brief instant, he truly believed that their luggage never made it onto the plane, and they would be forced to spend the week in the clothes they were wearing. 

Although Mulder was surprised that nobody was there to greet them at the gate, he was greatly relieved. He wasn't quite sure what would happen if Phoebe were at the gate, arms outstretched as they deplaned. "Pretty cheeky of you, Mulder" he thought. After all, she was Phoebe Montague now...

Mulder scanned the crowd in an effort to clear his mind. He looked at people, seeing them and not seeing them. It was when he walked just past a guard at one of the gates that he saw her. A young woman with dark Auburn hair holding a redheaded infant stood about twenty feet away. Everything began to move in slow motion for Mulder; it was as though he were in a vacuum, not seeing, not hearing anything but the rapid beating of his heart. "It can't be," he thought, "it isn't what actually is, but what you want."

Still something made him retrace his steps back to that spot, and as he reached it, she turned to look at him.

"Meena?!"

Mulder stood, rooted to the spot, staring at the young woman. It looked like her, it had to be her. And the baby - yes, it had to be hers. It had to be. "A hallucination?" He thought. And then he realized that she was staring directly at him. At the moment their eyes met, a large crowd passed in front of them. Anxious to see around them, to make his way through that crowd to the woman and her baby, he started to move when he felt two hands clamp themselves over his eyes. Mulder instantly yanked them down, and looked for the woman and child.

They were gone. Vanished.

"Well, if you persist on treating me that way, Mulder, I shall have to insist you call me Lady Montague from here on."

Mulder turned to face Lady Phoebe Green Montague, Special Investigative Director of Scotland Yard. He dropped her hands; Phoebe instantly picked them up again. "Oh, Mulder, I'm not cross. I'd never be cross with you - how could I? What is it you Yanks say? `long time, no see?'"

Mulder took one more glance around, trying to see the woman and child he'd spotted a short time ago. "Mulder?!" Phoebe demanded. "Hello, Phoebe," he politely replied. "It's good to see you." "And you as well," Phoebe replied. "Well now; let's have a look at you, shall we? Oh my; I see the Fox has gone a little grey around the edges." Before Mulder could stop her, Phoebe raised her hand, and ran her fingers through the grey hair at his temples. "Rather distinguished. Have you considered a professorship? I'm sure you'd have all the girls at Oxford swooning and hanging on your every word..."

"Ahem!"

Phoebe turned around, and she and Mulder faced Scully as she approached. "Nobody came, so I decided to come and find you and the _baggage_ myself, and I see I have." she said. "Agent Scully," Phoebe replied. "How nice of you to come!" "Scully hyphen Mulder, and I wouldn't miss it for the world," Scully replied. "Oh, yes; that's right," answered Phoebe, You two got married. So sorry I missed the wedding." "Well, you know the mail," replied Scully, "hardly reliable once it "crosses the pond..."

Mulder wondered if it was too late to get a flight back to D.C. 

"Well, let's find my driver and your luggage. I do hope you'll stay with me at Brittlegate Manor," Phoebe said. "That's very kind..." Mulder began. Scully finished the statement for the both of them. "Of course we'll be happy to stay at Brittlegate Manor. It's very kind of you and your husband to open up your home to us. I hope he doesn't mind." 

Phoebe sighted her driver and waved him over. "Don't be silly - old sot's been dead for years."

"Oh, God;" thought Mulder. 


	21. Close Quarters

In Scully's opinion, the ride from Heathrow Airport would have been quiet were it not for Phoebe. Her incessant chatter punctuated the drive with observations; "oh Mulder, you won't believe how this has changed or that has changed..." On occasion, Phoebe would be considerate enough to include her in the conversation, but after a scant few minutes, Phoebe somehow found a way to shift her conversation and attention back to Mulder almost immediately. In light of Phoebe's constant prattle, Scully wondered how her husband shut her up long enough to bed her; his virginity for her complete and utter silence must have seemed like a fair deal at the time. It had been a long time since her imagination had traveled to that event in Mulder's life, but the image of that moment coupled with that new spin on it made Scully laugh out loud. "Well, we finally got a rise out of you," Phoebe said. That comment forced Scully to turn towards the window or risk breaking into fits of uncontrollable laughter. "Well , whatever it was, I hope it was funny" Phoebe said. "Yes; yes, it was." Scully replied.

And so the ride continued. The chauffeur driven Bentley cruised through the teeming city on the Thames, the place where monarchies ruled and more than queens had lost their heads. The car continued outside London, passing through hamlets, villages and towns on its way to Brittlegate Manor. The Bentley reached the small country town of East Wickhamstone at the start of twilight; a few miles later, the car and its occupants rolled onto the grand estate of Brittlegate Manor.

If anybody thought Brittlegate was a small country estate, they knew otherwise when they passed through the ornate iron gates. A long, gravel road traveled five miles up to the manor; halfway up, visitors were treated to a splendid fountain complete with water spouting cherubs and giant stone goldfish that sat in the middle of a circular drive. As the car approached, Mulder, Scully and Phoebe could see lights glistening in the Manor windows. "It may not seem like it to you, but Brittlegate is small compared to some of its neighbors," Phoebe said. "The Manor and the lands surrounding it were a gift to my husband's family from some grateful monarch sometime after William the Conqueror and before Queen Victoria for service and loyalty of some sort. I have to admit, I never took too much interest in the history of the place while my husband was alive; my only interest in it was to make sure I could keep it after he died. I must say that through a stroke of luck and some very clever financial moves, I was able to succeed."

The Bentley pulled up to the front steps of the manor, and was met by the butler, who opened the car door as soon as the car rolled to a stop. Phoebe was the first to get out of the car; Mulder let his wife get out first, them followed her out of the vehicle. "Welcome to Brittlegate Manor," Phoebe said. She called back to them as she made her way up the marble steps. "I suppose you'll want to go to your rooms to freshen up before dinner..." Phoebe stopped to explain her last statement. "I couldn't decide which room to give you -- both have excellent views of the garden. So I gave you both. You could turn them into a suite of sorts. There's a door that can be left open between them..."

Phoebe continued up the stairs. "...Or left just as easily closed. I'll leave that to your discretion."

Dinner was held in the large dining room just off of the solarium. The long banquet table was set for an opulent feast for many although there would only be three for dinner. "We don't dress for dinner here, so please don't feel like you need to stand on formality. When she met Scully and Mulder downstairs, Scully could see Phoebe wasn't one to take her own advice. While Mulder didn't don a tuxedo or Scully a haute couture gown, both took pains to clothe themselves in casual yet appropriately dressy attire. Phoebe, on the other hand, had managed to pour herself into a stunning little black dress with a neckline that plunged so low it could have drilled for oil. 

Phoebe sat at the head of the table between Scully and Mulder, effectively cutting them off from each other. While Phoebe's position made it easy for her to speak to either of them, the width of the table created a huge gulf between Scully and her husband. She couldn't tell whether it was jet lag or the wine or something else that made everything move in slow motion; the food tasted like cotton, everyone's words were a jumble. She tried to keep focus and keep up with the conversation, but realized she wasn't doing a good job when she felt her husband's hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you for a very lovely dinner, Phoebe, but I think we'd better turn in," Mulder said. "Of course," Phoebe said as she rose from the table. Scully stood up. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be rude...." "Nonsense," Phoebe began. "Mulder's always done better on flights," Scully continued. Phoebe raised her hand to stop the conversation. "Jet lag effects different people different ways. Think nothing of it." Phoebe turned to look at Mulder, "I guess this mean's we'll have to put dessert off for some other time, then."

Scully was tired. The effort of trying to ignore Phoebe's passes at her husband, the jet lag, and the strain of the past few weeks and months finally hit her. It seemed to have effected Mulder as well, she thought. She watched him as they got ready to turn in.

It didn't strike her until they were in bed that it was the first time in a long time that they were sharing a bed together.

Mulder and Scully lay beside each other, bodies barely touching. They lay together in bed much like strangers and not like people who had been together for over thirty years. Their breathing was measured and predictable, and so was the strain between the two of them. Scully, in spite of her best efforts, felt herself drifting off. Just before sleep hooded her eyes, she felt Mulder's weight shift beside her.

By the time Scully was asleep, Mulder had gotten out of the bed and left the room, slowly and softly closing the door behind him.

**************************************************************************

It is said that it is always darkest before the dawn, yet there are those still yet among the living who would disagree. They would argue that it is actually gray, a discovery and observation made when worries and fears jolt them awake from fitful slumber. They know it is a cold, gray dawn that lives before dawn; a time when the world and fate still doesn't know what the day will bring. It was this cold, gray time, this dawn before dawn, when Scully awoke.

It took her a minute to remember and realize where she was. As she became a little more aware, she remembered that she and her husband, Mulder, had started their slumber in bed together. She was uncertain for the moment if it ended that way.

Scully chose not to roll over on her back to find out the answer, but rather to raise her arm over her head, and bring it slowly down onto the pillow beside her. Her arm hung in the air for what seemed to be an eternity before it came down, fingers searching for a shoulder, a collar, a lock of Mulder's hair. What they found was the hollow left by her husband's absent head. Her hand lingered in the indentation, fingers trying to remember the last time they touched her sleeping mate. Unable to delay the inevitable, Scully turned over to face the empty spot. As Scully looked down the bed, she could still see the outline of Mulder's body. She rolled over into his spot, burying her head where his head had been.

The pillow had captured his scent and held it through the night; it was the last thing Scully smelled as she sank back into sleep.

**************************************************************************

It was a rosy dawn that did not match Mulder's mood as he walked in the garden. Unable to sleep, he had spent the night in the library, finally falling into a fitful sleep a few short hours before dawn. He awoke for a brief while in that time that exists just as the night makes its escape from the sunlight, that cold, gray dawn before dawn, and instinctively reached for his sleeping wife. It was when his hand touched the cold leather of the winged-back chair that he remembered where he was. 

The morning sun woke Mulder an hour later. In an effort to clear his head, he decided to take a quick walk outside. He drew his robe close, and made his way out to the garden. As Mulder walked down to the garden, he realized it had been years since he had seen an English sunrise. The cold morning dew dampened his toes as he walked through the grass, but he never noticed it. He had too much on his mind. Mulder thought about the trip to London, and how much he had asked of his wife by agreeing to go. He was sure that had he thought long enough, he could have discovered a way out of it. This had to be hard for Scully; how many husbands ask their wives to spend a weekend as the captive audience of their ex-lovers? She had been through so much already - they both had.

It was little wonder she couldn't stand to be with him.

Mulder already knew she blamed him for everything; their daughter's disappearance, the troubles in their marriage. And she had every right to blame him. It was because of him Meena was gone. He was her father; he was supposed to protect her, to anticipate every danger that lurked in every shadow and every corner. He let his guard down, and the minute he did, she was gone. He'd lost the only thing that mattered in their lives - how could she not hate him? He hated _himself_ for it.

Mulder walked into the ornate, boxwood hedge maze as he wandered alone with his thoughts. His last thought was of last night as they lay in bed together, barely touching each other. Like so many times in recent weeks, he longed to touch her; to take her in his arms and just hold her. But how could he? What if she pushed him away? 

But wasn't she already doing that, and after what he did, didn't she have the right?

When Mulder looked up, he realized that he had walked into a dead end. He stared for a moment at the green, leafy wall ahead of him. Not knowing where he was or how he got there, he turned around to retrace his steps.

When he turned around, Phoebe was standing right in front of him.

"I generally recommend a ball of twine the first time people come in here," Phoebe said. "Or a friend who knows their way out." 

"I should think, Mulder, that were I you and planning to walk in the garden at the first dewfall," Phoebe said, "I would want to shod my feet in something other than cloth bedroom slippers." "Which is why you're out here in your bare feet?" Mulder asked. "Why Mulder, I thought you knew. It how we English women keep our youthful and dewy complexions."

There was enough space for Mulder to brush past Phoebe and try to make his way out of the maze. Undaunted, Phoebe followed him closely. "I should tell you it's very difficult to get out of here without a guide. My late husband played a practical joke on me our first month together. Stood right in the window up there in one of the rooms - the rooms you and Scully are in, actually- and watched with great amusement as I wandered around helpless and lost." "Helpless? You, Phoebe? I highly doubt that," Mulder replied. "Stranger things have happened," answered Phoebe. 

Mulder, in his efforts to escape Phoebe, found himself instead at another dead end, with Phoebe continuing her relentless pursuit. "Did you sleep well last night, Mulder?" "Like a baby," he replied. "And Scully? How did she rest last night?" asked Phoebe. "She slept the same way she always sleeps," Mulder replied. He brushed past Phoebe again, this time finding a break in the maze. Unfortunately, it led to another dead end. "Really?" Phoebe replied when he stopped again. "I should wonder how you would know that by sleeping in the Library last night. Had I known," Phoebe continued, "I would have directed you to my late husband's collection of Sherlock Holmes novels. First editions signed by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself..."

Mulder and Phoebe stared at each other. "Your marriage is in trouble, isn't it?" she asked. 

"You're the investigator, Phoebe," Mulder replied. "You tell me" "Very well," replied Phoebe, "where should I begin? Would you like for me to detail, in my professional opinion, how the two of you avoid each other's glances? Perhaps we can discuss how the two of you find it uncomfortable to engage in conversation with each other..." "When could we?" Mulder shot back. "All you've done is talk since we've arrived." The instant he said that, Mulder realized that he had been mean-spirited. "You don't need to apologize, Mulder. I deserved that." 

Phoebe moved in closer to Mulder, the tips of her bare toes touching his. "One of the things I regret most is how things ended with us. I take full responsibility for that." Phoebe stared deep into Mulder's eyes. "I would hope," Phoebe continued, "that despite whatever happened between us all those years ago, you would let me help a friend who is so obviously in need." Phoebe raised the back of her hand to Mulder's cheek, and gently laid it on his skin. 

"I'm here. Let me help you."


	22. An English Garden

Scully awoke for the second and final time that morning in the spot so briefly occupied by her husband. She rolled onto her back, not wanting to raise her head or move her body from that spot. It was the only contact she had with her husband in bed for a long time. A poor substitute, but one that had to suffice for now. Curiosity began to get the better of her sensibilities. Mulder had to have slept somewhere last night, but where? 

The thought briefly entered her mind that she may not want to know the answer, but the torment was far too great. She had to know.

Reluctantly, Scully forced herself out of bed, and walked slowly to the other side of the room. She stood in front of the door that joined the two rooms. "Please," Scully thought as he hand touched the doorknob. She slowly turned it, and watched as the door opened into the other room. Her eyes scanned the room for any sign of Mulder - whether that sign was he chose to sleep in there, or that he was still asleep in that room.

The room remained untouched and unscathed. Unfortunately, Scully couldn't say the same for her peace of mind.

Scully paced the room, not wanting to face the inevitable. Despite her best efforts, her mind jumped to the conclusions she tried so hard to avoid. "It's not what you think, it's not what you think, it's not what you think..." In an effort to clear her mind, Scully walked over to the window and pulled back the shades. The window faced the garden and provided the perfect view of a beautiful English garden with a boxwood hedge maze in the center of it. 

She could see everything. She could see Phoebe as she pulled Mulder's face down to hers.

Scully couldn't watch anymore. It indeed wasn't what she thought. It was much worse.

Scully began her descent into her own private hell. The wall was the only thing that supported her, and she leaned her petite frame against it hard. She sank as her spirit sank down to the ground, winding up on the floor in a ball, hugging her knees tight as the tears fell. "Why is this happening to me?"; "This is not fair!"; "This isn't right!" - all these questions, fears and anxieties swirled around her like crows, pecking at her psyche and tormenting her soul.

"Why has he stopped loving me?"

Scully had always loved Mulder. Even in the darkest hours, even when there was no hope, even now in her moment of bleak despair, she loved him. And during the darkest hours when hope was seen by outsiders as a foolhardy decision and dangerous pursuit, the only thing that held her together, the only thing created hope out of nothing was her unwavering belief and steadfast knowledge that Mulder loved her. He had always loved her.

And until today, Scully believed that he always would.

It was too much. They had been through too much. What was she thinking? What made their marriage, their union so special that it could withstand _anything_? If it could withstand anything, it would have certainly withstood the machinations and devious plots of an old love, and it was painfully obvious that it could not. 

Their marriage, along with their hopes and dreams for the future, was dead.

Scully slowly stood up. She walked over to the dressing table to get a tissue to dry her eyes. When she reached her destination, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It took longer than a minute to recognize the person in the mirror.

"My God," she thought. "This can't be me..."

Scully had never considered herself a vain woman, but now she found herself scrutinizing every inch of her face. The few wrinkles she had magnified under the weight of her recent discovery. She ran her fingers through her hair, counting more gray hairs than red. Who was this woman? Despite her best efforts, she found herself making comparisons. Phoebe looked as though she had a picture rotting somewhere in the attic. Her skin was smooth; her hair still dark. Her body looked like a woman half her age. She had no worries or cares....

Scully stopped for a moment at that last thought, and suddenly had an epiphany. Phoebe may not have had any worries or cares quite possibly because she avoided them. Scully had lived a full life. She raised a child and nurtured her into a wonderful and strong woman. She had a fulfilling career. She had a husband who loved her... Once.

"And by God," she thought, "he'll love me again."

Dana Catherine Scully-still-Mulder got her Irish up. "Snap out of it!" Scully thought. "You're going to let some pathetic tart with dyed hair and skin pulled so tight by plastic surgery that her eyes are in danger of popping right out of her head destroy your marriage?!" Scully stood squarely facing her reflection. "You are going to kick that woman's ass," she said aloud. Her husband may have stopped loving her, but she wasn't going to stop loving him. 

Her marriage wasn't over - not by a long shot. And certainly not without a fight.

********************************************************************************

Phoebe's hand turned as her fingers made their way up Mulder's cheek. They wove and intertwined themselves into his hair. Mulder stood there, arms limp at his sides in surrender and total acceptance as Phoebe's hand followed her command, pulling Mulder closer.... closer.... closer.... until their lips almost touched, their lips so close together that they shared one breath; Mulder breathing out, Phoebe taking in his exhaled air with longing and passion. The air was still; the world around them silent except for the beating of their hearts and the sound of their breath. Phoebe moved in closer to close the gap between them when Mulder spoke.

"I love my wife."

Phoebe stopped and pulled back a little.

"I'm gong to say this in terms that even you will understand," Mulder whispered harshly. "I love my wife. I have always loved my wife. I will always love my wife, and will _never stop_ loving my wife. And no, Phoebe - not even for you."

Phoebe's hand disengaged itself from Mulder's hair, and fell limp. "Then you're a bloody fool," she said. "That's not the first time I've heard that," Mulder replied.

Mulder pushed past Phoebe, and made his way to another branch in the maze. "You're a bloody _fool_, Mulder," Phoebe said again as she followed him. "For once, Mulder, why don't you see things as they are? See things the way they are, Mulder, not as you wish they'd be."

Mulder saw a break in the maze, and made his way to it. Phoebe called after him one more time before he found the break, and made his way out of the maze. "She doesn't love you, Mulder!"

Mulder, standing outside of the maze, turned to face Phoebe. "Maybe not," Mulder replied. "But I do. And that's all that matters." 


	23. Close Connects

Due in large part to that morning's events, breakfast was silent and mercifully quick. The trio sat at the breakfast table, all silent as rocks; however if someone had been able to amplify their thoughts, their unspoken words, and their angst, the cacophony would have been deafening. Mulder racked his brain in search of a way and a time when he could tell his wife what almost happened in the beautifully groomed English garden; Scully's brain screamed in impatient desperation as she debated head over heart whether she should confront Mulder about the incident she thought she saw.

Phoebe wondered if, in light of what had transpired, whether she should have served Eggs Benedict for breakfast. 

Once again, Phoebe thought only as far as her own myopic needs and desires, as was her nature.

Scully stood up after having barely taken two bites of her breakfast. "If you'll excuse me, Phoebe, is there a car I can use? I'd like to go into London. I have to pick up some things." "Of course," Phoebe replied, "I'll have Darcy bring the car around." Mulder stood up immediately. "I'll go with you," Mulder interjected. He paused. "I thought maybe we could see the sights we missed. The ones we haven't seen yet. Together."

Scully's heart leapt at the thought; nothing at that moment would have made her happier than the prospect of just the two of them, alone together, riding through the countryside to London and seeing what the crown jewel of Great Britain had to offer. Yet the statement that fell from her lips didn't sound anything at all like she had planned.

"Suit yourself," Scully replied.

Scully paused to look at Mulder and Phoebe. "I'll be down in a moment." Mulder watched achingly as his wife walked further and further away. Before Phoebe could say anything, Mulder told Phoebe he would be waiting for his wife outside.

Phoebe looked after Mulder as he left the room. She placed her elbows on the table, and rested her chin on her fingertips. "Yes, Mulder. It's only a matter of time now."

A lifetime passed as the chauffeur driven Rolls Royce sped through the countryside. Mulder and Scully said nothing to each other although their individual body language screamed for attention. They tried to reach other, to connect in so many ways, but did not. As Mulder faced the window, Scully saw a stray strand of hair move perilously close to his eye; as she reached to move it, Mulder waved it and her hand away. 

He never saw her gesture.

Scully turned to face the window on her side of the car. When Mulder turned around, he saw Scully's hand resting on the seat between them. It seemed like forever before he worked up the nerve to reach for it; just as he did, Scully moved her hand to brush away a stray hair. She let her hand fall into her lap.

She never saw his gesture.

And so it continued, a series of near-misses, close-connects, best efforts, until they reached London.

They never saw their gestures at all.

Scully signaled the driver a block from Harrod's department store. "Darcy, would you stop here, please?" Mulder moved to get out of the car when Scully stopped him. "If you don't mind, Mulder, I need some time alone - there's some errands I need to run. Why don't we meet back here in about two hours?" Mulder sat dumbfounded as she got out of the car, and walked quickly up the street. Before long, she was lost in the crowd and disappeared from his sight.

"Shall we drive on, sir?" asked the chauffeur. The blaring of car horns finally caught Mulder's attention. "Harrod's is a block away. I could drop you there, sir, if you'd like?"

Mulder finally answered him, his thoughts elsewhere. "Yes," he replied. "Harrods is fine."

Meena had every intention of seeing Dr. Moriarty that morning, but neither she nor the baby got any sleep the night before. Andrew had let both of them sleep in, and by the time Nigel's cries woke her up, the morning was almost over. although it was late, Meena was able to get enough food in her young son despite the baby's best efforts to clothe his mother head to toe in oatmeal and applesauce. She bathed him and herself and got both of them dressed. It wasn't easy, but she managed and she didn't mind. For some reason, every time she looked at her son, she had the strange feeling his presence was a gift she had been given back, and she relished it. "Well now, Mr. Pudge," Meena said as she held her son high overhead, "what say you to a little ride in the c-a-r to the t-r-a-i-n?" The baby giggled and squealed with delight. "Yes!" Meena replied. "Mummy has to go to London to buy a new frock, and maybe something for little baby Nigel! Yes!"

Meena secured the baby in the rear child car seat, and drove both of them to the transit station. Baby Nigel looked out of the window, transfixed at the scenery as the train whizzed by. The train finally made it to the center of London, a few blocks away from Harrod's department store. He sat quietly in his stroller and without fuss as Meena made her way through the shopping emporium, and the store clerks "ooh'd" and "ah'd" at every little face he made. 

Because he had been such an angel, Meena wheeled Nigel over to the toy department and picked out a toy. When she went to pay for her purchase, the sales clerk noticed she was laden with a lot of packages. "Would you like to have those delivered, 'mam?" asked the sales clerk. "We can have them to you by six p.m. tonight..." "I'd love to, but I've just bought a dress that I'll need for tonight," "Meena replied." "Very well, then, I can ask them to put a rush on it. You just look like you have your hands full." "Yes," Meena replied, "You're right. Yes, I think that's a good idea." "Let me just get your name and address," replied the clerk, "and we'll get things started." "Last name is Cartwright," Meena replied. "First name M-E-E-N-A..." "M-I-N-A?" asked the sales clerk. "As in short for `Wilhelmina'?"

A sharp, stabbing pain went through Meena's head like hot steel.

"Are you alright, 'mam?" asked the sales clerk. "Yes," replied Meena slowly. "You're right. M-I-N-A." 

The last time Mulder had been in Harrods, he was a student at Oxford. He'd gone there to buy an add-a-bead necklace for his girlfriend, Phoebe Greene. Money was tight. As it was, he had to work extra hours in the Psych lab and take on more students to tutor than he really had time for, but somehow he was able to do it. He took the money that he had scrimped and saved by cutting back on sleep and food and bought a three-bead, add-a-bead necklace. One 14 carat gold bead flanked by two pearl beads on either side, suspended by a gold chain - and not the flimsy, cheap kind. It was solid and strong. He gave it to her that evening during the candlelight picnic he had set up in his graduate school digs, presenting it to her on a china plate he had "borrowed" from the faculty dining hall. "Really, Fox," she said, and held the chain suspended between two fingers.

They broke up three days later, and Mulder didn't completely accept it until he saw Phoebe's flat-mate wearing the "new gift" Phoebe gave her for her birthday. 

Although it had been a number of years since then, Harrods still remained basically the same as he remembered it. Mulder wandered through the floors and departments, seeing things, but not seeing them. He was still preoccupied with Scully; he still wondered exactly why she decided she'd rather be alone in a crowd of strangers than be with him. He had to do something, say something to at least try to bridge the gap between them, but he didn't know where to start. He didn't know if it was too late.

In his travels, Mulder found himself in the toy section. He really stumbled upon it, and he was almost shocked that he was there. Since the events of six months ago, he found it hard to look at toys, to go to parks. Sometimes, hearing a child's laughter was almost too much to bear. Mulder found himself in front of a display of stuffed animals- a veritable menagerie of fuzzy elephants and bunnies with pink noses. Mulder absent-mindedly picked up an over-stuffed teddy bear with a button nose and kind eyes. He smiled weakly as he thought about how much his grandson would have loved it. Mulder put the bear back among its poly-filled friends. As he looked up, he caught something out of the corner of his eye.

There was a young woman standing at the counter about twenty feet away. He saw her raise an infant with red hair high in the air, and bring it gently down near her face. The baby giggled with glee as she repeated the motion once more. The second time she brought the baby down, she turned her cheek to place it next to her child's.

It was the woman and child he'd seen at Heathrow the day before. And in that instant, Mulder was certain the woman was Meena.

"Now, is little Nigel ready to go home?" Meena said as she placed her child in his stroller. "Mummie's so pleased at how good her little boy's been - yes!" Just as she strapped him in and prepared to leave, she heard a voice in the distance.

"Meena!"

She looked around, but couldn't see who was calling to her. She walked four steps before she heard the voice again.

"Meena!!!"

She looked around, and saw a man moving quickly in her direction. Just as he got closer, she felt a slight twinge of pain near her temple. She stood there and tried to massage the pain away.

"Meena! Wait!"

The man finally reached her. He was tall, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He had a boyish face, and the only thing that gave away his age was the gray at his temples. He reached out for her when he reached her, almost as though he were reaching for a ghost.

"Meena..." he replied, almost in a whisper. As he reached for her, she took a step back.

"Yes?" she answered.

The man said nothing, and it was almost as if he'd stopped breathing, almost as if he was afraid to breathe. He looked down at the infant that was now asleep in his stroller. "The baby..." he said slowly. "Oh, my God..." The man reached down to pick up the child when Meena pulled the stroller back sharply. As she did so, she noticed that the man looked extremely hurt, and she found herself regretting her actions. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?" She asked. The man suddenly grabbed her by the arm. "It's alright, Meena. You're safe. I'm here now; your mother's here..." "My mother?!" replied Meena. Suddenly, the sharp pain returned at her temple. "Who _are_ you?!" she demanded, "What kind of sick joke is this?! My mother and father are dead..."

The man tried to pull her towards him. "That's what they told you?" he asked. "Meena, honey..." Meena began to panic as her headache grew worse. "Let go of me!" she yelled as she yanked her arm away. "Stay away from me! Get away from me!!!!"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!" 


	24. Interrogatories

Meena walked down the hallway from the Harrods security office to the interrogation room. Her headache, while still intense, had leveled itself to a dull and consistent throb. Although prodded to do so, she refused to press charges against the gentleman with the boyish face and graying temples. She didn't believe that he meant any harm; he was just confused. It was also clear, at least to her, that his response and his reaction to her and her baby came from a place of great loss. It was obvious that he had lost someone dear to him, and she reminded him of that person. He wasn't a danger to her, to himself, or to society. He was a soul lost and troubled, that was all. When the questioning concluded, Meena asked if the gentleman was still on the premises. When they said yes, she asked if she could speak with him. Her request met with protests, and she had to do a lot of work to convince the Chief of Security for the department store; promising, in the end, not to sue the store should things turn out otherwise. 

When she reached the interrogation room, she looked in through the one-way glass window at the gentleman. He sat there, staring into space, but it was clear that he was only there physically. His mind was in another place; his thoughts were of memories she didn't know, or at the very least wasn't aware of. His hands were folded on the table, and he twirled his wedding ring on his left hand, as if trying to connect with something or someone.

She opened the door, and when he saw her, he stood slightly in greeting; not sure of what her reaction would be. "Please, sit down" Meena said. The man sat in his chair, and watched as she tried to ease the pain at her temples, which spiked sharply when the door closed behind her.

"Are you alright?" the man asked. His voice filled with tenderness and concern, he spoke to her as if she were his daughter or his wife. "I'm sure they have aspirin - I can ask them for some and say it was for me..." Meena shook her head. "Really, I'm fine. Aspirin won't help - my doctor... I'm under treatment. Thank you for your concern." 

The gentleman began to speak, but Meena spoke first. "I asked to speak to you in an effort to make things clear.... To explain... To explain how I'm not the person you think I am. I would ask that you hear me out. Do you agree?" The gentleman nodded slowly. "Yes," he finally replied.

"I was born in Henley-on-Thames," Meena began." My father was a barrister, my mother a housewife who did volunteer work for various social organizations. They died in a car accident on the M9 when I was two. I was raised by my Aunt, who died when I was eighteen. I attended Saint George's Episcopal Girls School, went to college, married - all here in Britain. I've never been to America, which I understand is where you're from..." 

"I never would have guessed that from your voice," the gentleman interrupted. "You have a decidedly American accent..." 

The pain spiked in Meena's temples again, and the gentleman stopped. "So you see," continued Meena, "there's no way that I can be the person you think I am." She turned to leave when the gentleman spoke again. "Please, wait..."

Meena stopped and turned around.

"I think it fair," the gentleman began, "that you should know something." Meena looked at him for a brief moment before she answered. 

"Yes?"

"It's just that... You remind me so much of her..."

"Who?"

"My daughter."

It was just as she'd suspected. He _had_ lost someone.

Despite the pain of her headache, Meena moved closer to the table. The six feet of table from edge to edge was the only thing that separated her from the gentleman, yet she felt perfectly safe. "Tell me about her." She asked. A sad smile spread across his face. "She was so much like you," he replied. "I loved her so much - my wife and I loved her so much and love her still. There's not a day that goes by we don't think of her and how much she meant to us, how much she still means us."

The man grew silent, and the muffled sound of voices over the store intercom became the only noise in the room. The man's next response was a question. "How old is your child?" he asked. "Six months," she replied "Nigel is six months." 

"Your first?" 

Meena nodded. "I remember when you..." The man corrected himself. "When my daughter was born, I remember it was a hard delivery for my wife, and there were times I thought we would loose her. I hope things went well for you." 

"I really don't remember much of about the delivery." Meena replied. "They say that, for women, you don't remember much of the pain after delivery..." 

"Was your husband there?" He asked. 

"Yes," she replied. 

Meena said yes even though she couldn't remember if her husband was there or not. She really didn't remember much at all about the delivery, if anything at all.

"How long have you been married?" asked the gentleman. "Five years," Meena replied. "It must have been a beautiful ceremony," the gentleman replied. Meena didn't answer.

She didn't answer because she couldn't remember. And the more she tried to remember, the worse her headache became.

Her pain must have registered across her face, because the man reached out for her hand. Meena pulled away. "I'm sorry," she said. "I have to go. I have to go...."

She left quickly. She didn't see the sadness in the gentleman's eye as she left.

The gentleman watched as she left. There was sadness in his eyes not only because she had left; he was sad because she couldn't remember. He was sad because she couldn't remember the thing he knew with all certainty.

She was his daughter and her child his grandchild.

******************************************************************************

"I suppose I needn't tell you, Mulder, that Harrods tends to frown upon strange men who accost young mothers and their infants in their store, even if it is a case of mistaken identity," Phoebe said. She stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest as though she were scolding a small boy. "Even if he is a kindly old gentleman who could be someone's grandfather and even though, in my opinion, he doesn't look like a grandfather at all." Phoebe came in and shut the door behind her. 

"You're lucky the head of security is the son of a friend of my late husband's. As a favor to me, he's destroyed the file and complaint..." 

"No!" Mulder cried. 

He stood up from the table, and began to pace the floor. "It wasn't a mistake," Mulder replied. "I knew exactly who she is. It wasn't a mistake at all..." 

"Mulder," Phoebe began. 

"And now I've lost her," Mulder replied. "My God, what do I tell Scully? How do I tell her I lost her child again? That file was my only link to..." Phoebe cut him off. "She isn't your daughter, Fox!"

The mention of his given name made Mulder fall silent. "When I got the call from the store, I asked the Yard to discretely contact the Bureau and find some information in your defense." Phoebe paused, choosing very carefully what she would say next. "I know that your grandson died and daughter disappeared mysteriously within a matter of days six months ago, and that you and Scully have been searching for your daughter ever since. I know this is hard. I'm sorry for your loss, and yes, for you and your wife. But, believe this or don't, I'm saying this as a friend. It is time to let go. She isn't your daughter." 

Mulder angrily turned to face Phoebe. "You don't know that," he replied. "And you _do?_" Phoebe snapped. "She's been brainwashed," replied Mulder. "She couldn't answer even the simplest questions about her life, about events that should be so important and so significant to her that they would be eternally etched in her memory..." 

"You spoke to her?!" Phoebe was incredulous. "She couldn't remember - I could see it in her face - because the memories she has, the memories she thinks she has aren't hers," continued Mulder. "They've been manufactured; someone's taken away her real memories and given her manufactured ones straight out of a TV Movie-of-the-week, but someone forgot to flesh out the script. When she tries to remember, when something seems wrong or out of sync, she gets headaches - she had them when she was here talking to me." 

"Mulder, you never should have spoken to her," Phoebe replied. "You don't know how close you were to having as writ of restraint placed on your head, and you and Scully being instantly deported back to America." 

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have stopped them," Mulder replied. "Now that I know she's alive, it's going to take more than that to keep me from finding her and my grandson."

*************************************************************

Drew's car was in the driveway when Meena pulled up. Her headache was finally gone; in fact, it had disappeared shortly after she left Harrods. "I shouldn't wonder," she thought to herself. It had been a stressful turn of events.

Drew was sitting in the Living Room on the sofa with the shades drawn when she came in. "Oh dear," Meena said as she came in. "Yes, I'm afraid it's another headache," Drew replied. "Tried to tough it out as long as I could at the office, but it finally got so bad that I had to come home. Guess Dr. Moriarty's going to have to see us in shifts - what with you seeing him today..." When Meena didn't answer him, Drew turned to face her. "Darling, I thought we'd agreed that you would see Dr. Moriarty today. Your headaches won't get any better if you don't follow the treatments.." 

The baby began to stir from his nap and started to fuss. "Please don't, dear; it's been a long day, and it's going to be an even longer night..." "How has it been a long day, dear?" Drew replied. Meena started to tell him about her day, started to tell him about the incident at Harrods, but something made her think better of it. Besides, she couldn't even if she wanted to; Nigel was hungry and cranky and wasn't going to take "no" for an answer.

Meena nodded her head towards the fussy infant. "Does this answer your question?" When Meena said that, Drew realized he effectively put his foot in his mouth. 

"I'm sorry dear," he replied. "I've not been a very good husband, have I? Do you want me to feed him?" 

"No," Meena replied "it's alright." 

She walked in the direction of the kitchen so she could feed Nigel. 

"I really wish we didn't have to go to this party tonight..." 

"Maybe we shouldn't," Drew replied, "Not if we're both knackered." 

"We promised Charlotte and her husband we would go for them; apparently his employer's gone to great expense as part of this event and the tickets must be used.... I don't entirely understand it, but we promised we'd go." 

"No, " chided Drew, "You promised, and I nodded my head like an obedient husband." 

"Just as you should," Meena replied. 

Meena continued on to the kitchen, but stopped as she got to the door.

"Drew?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Have you seen our wedding album?"

Drew thought for a moment. "No, can't say as I have. I really couldn't tell you where it is. Why?" Meena pause for a moment.

"Just curious," she replied. 


	25. Bipity, Bobity Boo

When Scully got out of the car, she moved quickly so that Mulder nor the chauffer could see or follow her. She didn't want Mulder to follow her because, for the most part, even she didn't know where she was going. All she knew was that she had a plan, but no starting point. Scully walked down the bustling sidewalk, looking into shop windows, peering into boutiques. She stopped for a brief second to look at her guidebook when she found herself in front of a salon. It just so happened it was the salon listed in her guidebook, listed on the page to where she happened to land.

Her heels clicked on the Italian marble floor of the salon. Everything was in either black or white, and every person who wasn't a customer was dressed in black. Scully walked up to the reception desk, and spoke to a woman who looked as though she smelled something foul every waking moment of the day. "Welcome to the Manor, may I help you?" she asked. The woman would have probably peered at Scully over the tops of her glasses were she wearing any, but since she wasn't she managed a calculated sneer instead. 

"I don't presume that you take walk-ins," Scully began, "but I'd like to schedule an appointment for later on this afternoon, if space is available." 

"That's correct," the woman began, "And I'm not sure we have anything available for later on." 

"Well, then could you direct me to another salon in the area...?" 

Before either of them could answer, a man clad in the similar shade of black burst into the conversation. "Sweetie, there _is_ no other salon in the area!" Scully was surprised to see that the comment managed to get a response out of Miss-Nose-In-The-Air. "Squeeze her in between the appointments we haven't had in the past three hours and the ones we probably won't get for the rest of the day - oh look!" he said as he ceremoniously pointed at the appointment book. "That would mean I could see her right about _now_."

Before the receptionist could respond, the stylishly clad man in black grabbed Scully by the shoulders, and whisked her away. "My name is Reginald," he replied, "And I will be your fairy hairdresser for today. I must warn you that I don't apologize for my behavior. I'm flamboyant, I'm a stereotype, and if it bothers you, fine; if it offends you, even better. I really don't care one fig, and I will not apologize for being the person that I am." 

"I don't expect you to," Scully replied, "and I'm not offended in the least." 

"So glad to hear it. You wouldn't believe some of the comments I get. But I'm not in the business of pretending - I leave that to the actors and people who are too confused to know who they _really_ are."

Reginald sat Scully down in the stylist's chair. "Now, dearie;" he said, "what can I do for you today?" 

"I need your help..." Scully began. 

"Oh, I should say so, Love!" Reginald exclaimed. "Why, I don't mean to be rude, but you look like a Lorie splashed mud on your new frock just after the Queen's regiment marched all over your backside." 

Scully opened her mouth to speak, but Reginald continued. "Now wait, let me guess." He circled the stylist's chair as he made his assessment. "Ah yes, I see. I understand all about it now. It's another woman. And she's after your man; your husband, of course - I see the lovely braided wedding band he gave you. Must have put a lot of thought into that, dearie, it's truly lovely." 

"Thank you," Scully replied. 

"...And from the look on your face when you marched in here, she's quite a tart. You needn't say anything, Lovie, I know. I know all about it. Happened to meself once - but never twice. My partner had a bit of the roving eye, he did, and I told him in no uncertain terms that if I ever caught givin' the what-for to anybody outside of our relationship, male or female, the words 'banger' and 'mash' would take on an entirely different meaning in his life!" 

Reginald spun Scully around to face the mirror, and brought his face down next to hers. "Reginald's here, lovie, and we're going to fix everything. Let's start by taking this nasty gray out. Tell me lovie, what's the natural color?" 

"The red _is_ the natural color," replied Scully. 

"Well, what'cha know? A true redheaded spitfire!" Reginald exclaimed in mock surprise. "I'm surprised you haven't bitch-slapped that tart who's after your man right across the Thames!" 

"Oh, before the week's over, I will," Scully replied. "Count on it." 

"Right-oh! That's the spirit!" cheered Reginald. "Now let me get my hands in that head of yours and get to work!"

********************************************************************

Mulder fastened his onyx cufflinks as he stood in the grand front foyer of Brittlegate Manor. The light from the chandelier reflected off of the marble floor and danced in the mirror as Mulder checked his reflection. Was his tie straight? He'd never been good at tying a bow tie. Whenever they went to functions like this, Scully always tied his bow tie with crisp efficiency, but he hadn't seen her since she got out of the car in London. They hadn't come home together; Mulder drove back to Brittlegate with Phoebe - a long, silent car ride even with the radio on. Scully followed later, driven by Darcy who waited for her where he had left her. Mulder was in the adjoining room for the "suite" Phoebe had created when Scully came back, but when he finally knocked on the door, Scully never answered. When he opened the door and heard the telltale sound of water running in the tub, he picked up his tuxedo and showered and dressed in the adjoining room. Was his tie straight? He didn't know, and Scully wasn't there to tell him.

"Well, don't you look smashing!" 

Mulder turned away from his reflection to face Phoebe as she came down the grand staircase. 

"I really must say, Mulder, you still cut quite a handsome figure in a Tuxedo." 

Before Mulder could say anything, Phoebe continued. 

"And I'm saying it as friend and nothing more. I do hope we're still friends, despite our differences."

Phoebe descended the staircase, and walked over to Mulder. 

"I hope, old friend, that I can ask a favor of you, but let me preface this by saying that my intentions are strictly above board." 

"Depends on the favor," Mulder asked. 

Phoebe turned her back to Mulder. "Zip me up the rest of the way?" She held her hands up in mock surrender. "I swear, Mulder - my dresser went home for the evening, and I really thought I could do this myself. My hands are nowhere near where they can do any danger or mischief." 

Mulder said nothing. 

"Really, Mulder, I can't go to my own awards dinner half naked..."

"Well, it would definitely give the guests something to talk about," Scully replied

Mulder and Phoebe looked to see Scully standing at the top of the stairs. Both were speechless until Mulder opened his mouth to speak.

"My God," he said, "you're beautiful."

********************************************************************************

Scully stood at the top of the grand staircase. She wasn't wearing the dress he'd seen her pack for their trip; rather, she was the proverbial vision of loveliness in a new, strapless, sleeveless dress of Midnight Blue crepe that fell to the floor and hugged a figure that was better than women who were half her age. Her opera-length white kid gloves rose up her arms well past her elbows, and stopped just where her dress began. Her hair was back to its full glory; red and without a trace of gray it fell into a soft pageboy just past her jawline. Although Scully had never aged in Mulder's eyes, she looked as she did when they first met. She was a timeless beauty and a woman for all ages. 

Mulder got the surprise of his life when Scully began to walk down the staircase. The dress of Midnight Blue that seemed so stately and sedate had a split just long enough to tastefully reveal one of the many reasons why he married her. Showgirls in Vegas should be so lucky to have legs as shapely and beautiful as his wife's.

"My God, I love you," he thought.

**************************************************************************

"Left, Right, Left, Right..." Scully counted the steps as she walked down the grand staircase because she wasn't entirely sure her legs could move on their own. She had Reginald to thank for the stunning new dress and strappy pumps. Her "fairy hairdresser" as he had called himself had taken it upon himself to make sure she looked "Faaaaabbulous!" as he put it. He had taken her next door to the boutique that was owned by a friend of his and started pulling things off of the rack. She wasn't sure about the dress at first, but Reginald was finally able to talk her into it. "Dearie, with your figure and your fabulous new 'do'" he said, "You'll be doing more than bringing home the bacon and frying it up in a pan!" When Scully saw Mulder's reaction, she knew Reginald had made the right choice. 

"My God," Mulder said as she came down the stairs. You're beautiful."

Scully had to fight very hard to suppress a girlish giggle. Mulder was actually flustered! He hadn't realized he had said that aloud, and when he did, he looked sheepishly at the floor like a boy experiencing in his first crush. 

"Thank you," she replied. "You look great yourself." 

Scully held her gloved hand outstretched when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Mulder walked over to take her hand when he saw what was inside. 

"Could you put this on for me, please?" asked Scully. "I can't with these gloves on." 

In the palm of her hand was a diamond heart necklace on a delicate gold chain. It was the heart he had given her on their tenth wedding anniversary; a symbol of his heart that he had given her willingly so long ago.

Scully faced him as he reached around her neck to fasten the necklace, and as he did, his fingers brushed her collarbone and neck. She actually thought she could feel him trembling. His touch was hot on her skin and she thought her knees would collapse and send her tumbling to the ground. It had been so long since he touched her, truly touched her the way he was now. Would she make it through the evening? 

At the moment, she wasn't sure if she could make it through the next minute.

Mulder looked down into her face. "Is my tie straight?" he asked gently. Scully reached up, and made the slightest adjustment to his handiwork. She looked down and noticed that he was wearing the onyx shirt studs and cufflinks she had given him on their wedding day. Her hands fell from his tie, and trailed over each of the shirt studs, one by one. When she did that, Mulder looked as though things had finally fallen into place, and the world order had been restored by the simple touch of her hand. "Perfect," she said.

They could have stood there and gazed into each other's eyes forever.

"Well, we should probably get started," Phoebe said. "Mulder, why don't you see if the car's out front," Scully replied. 

Both women looked as Mulder left the room. "I hope you realize how lucky you are," Phoebe said. "Every day," Scully replied. 

Phoebe walked past Scully and towards the door when Scully stopped her. "Wait a second," she said. Phoebe looked over her shoulder, and saw that her dress was still unzipped. Scully walked over to Phoebe and yanked the zipper closed so harsh and so fast that she almost pinched the skin on Phoebe's back. 

"Make another pass at my husband," Scully said, "and I'll smack you so hard you'll be airborne." 


	26. Starlight and Moonbeams

When Phoebe said Brittlegate was the smallest estate in the area, her two houseguests thought it was an attempt at humility. They realized, however, that she had been right in her assessment when they reached their destination. The fete in honor of Lady Phoebe Green Montague, Special Investigative Director of Scotland Yard, was being held at Sternwood Castle, ancestral home of the Duke and Duchess of Sternwood and the castle made Brittlegate look like a small hunting lodge. Flags bearing the Sternwood family colors flew from every one of its many turrets, and guests could see the family crest on the flags that flew at the castle entrance. The castle came equipped with its own moat and drawbridge, which had been lowered to allow guests entry. As they drove up, Scully leaned over and whispered into Mulder's ear. "Must have been quite a fortress in its day. A person could have hidden all kinds of secrets here." Scully said. "Still can," Mulder replied. "I think I just saw Elvis."

Darcy the chauffer pulled up to the castle, and Mulder, Scully and Phoebe got out. As they walked across the drawbridge, Phoebe gave them a bit of a local geography lesson. "Brittlegate, the humble abode where you are staying, is about eight miles away. To the East of where we are now is Woodmere Estate. It used to belong to the Fifth Earl of Woodmere. We shall say he made some very poor business decisions that resulted in his loosing the family estate to someone who could better afford it. No one really knows who bought it, however. The records are mysteriously sealed tighter than a mausoleum."

Mulder, Scully and Phoebe walked into the courtyard of the great castle. As they arrived, medieval revelers greeted them and the other guests, and the whole courtyard had been converted to a fair straight out of medieval times complete with jugglers and madrigal singers. As they looked around, the Master of Ceremonies walked up to Phoebe. "Oh, Lady Montague - there you are. Welcome to Sternwood Castle." The very proper and very British gentleman gently took Phoebe by the arm. "I'm afraid we must hurry; we're dangerously close to being off schedule. I'll take you to the dais." 

As he led Phoebe away, she called over her shoulder, "I'm afraid you heard the man; you'll have to excuse me." 

"Gladly," thought Scully as she left.

Mulder and Scully made their way with the other guests to the great hall. While the courtyard had been a scene of mirth and medieval merriment, the great hall was a scene of understated elegance. Each table was covered with crisp, white linen tablecloths; each chair dressed in a white linen cover with a wide gold ribbon that wrapped around the back and tied in a wide bow. Crystal glasses sparkled in complement with gleaming silverware; the finest china glowed with an alabaster luster. The twinkle of candlelight created the most breathtakingly beautiful scene that any of the guests had every seen.

The actual awards ceremony was much like any other. Amusing anecdote followed amazing anecdote; stories were exchanged, and words of tribute uttered. Despite what Scully thought about Phoebe and her history with her husband, she had to admit she'd had a very distinguished career. Mulder was even able to muster a smile and laugh when they showed a photo of him and Phoebe after they'd solved the arson case. Had it really been that long ago? 

The plates were cleared away, the band began to play, and people began to dance. 

Scully and Mulder listened to the music as it wafted through the great hall, each note hanging on the air and creating a canopy of sound. It may have been the champagne, but both of them had only had one glass. It may have been the twinkling lights and the magic of the evening. The music may have played a large part in it. But whatever it was, something happened in the next moment that hadn't happened in a long, long time. Mulder placed his hand on the table as he listened to the music. At the same time, Scully brought her hand down on top of Mulder's. The two of them turned to face each other, and Scully gently squeezed his hand.

Their eyes met, and for the first time in a long time, they made a connection and held fast.

The first set was finished, but Scully and Mulder never noticed as the dancers politely clapped in approval. "Our next selection," the band leader began, "comes from a time when Brits and Yanks alike fought side by side and shoulder to shoulder in the second War to End All Wars; WWII. In a tribute to our American guests, here's Glenn Miller's Moonlight Serenade." 

The familiar strains of Glenn Miller's signature masterpiece flowed from the band like liquid gold as Scully looked at her husband. "I bet you don't know the last time Glenn Miller played this piece as a civilian," she said. 

Mulder looked at his wife. " September 27th, 1942, Passaic, New Jersey. It was his last concert with his civilian band before he went into the army. The band was so sad to see him go that they couldn't finish playing it." 

Scully looked deep into Mulder's eyes. "Well, let's hope that doesn't happen tonight," she said.

Mulder stood up, never letting go of his wife's hand. "Well, I think I still can take a pretty good spin around the floor." He paused and looked into Scully's eyes. "Care to come with me?" he said quietly. Scully didn't answer. She didn't have to. 

She stood up, never letting go of her husband's hand, and followed him onto the dance floor.

The two of them stood facing each other for one heartbeat, then another. Even though they had known each other and had been together for almost four decades, it was as if they had just met and, in a way, they had. The events of the past six months and the turmoil of recent weeks and days had driven them apart; they had lost their way and had lost each other. But as it had always been whenever they were lost, they always managed to find their way back to each other. No matter how long it took, no matter where, no matter when. At long last, "I" and "me" became "us" and "we"again.

Together. Again. 

Scully placed her right hand in Mulder's, her left on his shoulder. Mulder gently placed his hand on her waist, just above her hip. Slowly, very slowly they began to dance. It didn't matter that there were other people in the room - quite frankly, they'd forgotten that the floor was crowded with people. They had created their own space and time, and that was all that mattered.

Not knowing how Scully would react, Mulder gently pulled her close to him. Scully responded by closing the distance between them, and resting her head on his chest. She closed her eyes, filling her nostrils with the scent of him. Mulder's head rested on hers, and the faint scent of her perfume caressed the air around them. He gently tightened his grip, encircling her tiny waist and holding her fast. 

He would never let her go ever again.

The band made it to the bridge, and as the music swelled to its first crescendo, Mulder guided his wife, first three quick movements, then gracefully dipping her toward him. His body supported the full weight of hers as he paused, then brought her upright in one smooth and fluid motion. Scully's eyes never left his; and his gaze never left hers.

It was during the clarinet solo that he decided he had to tell her. He knew it would be a risk; he had risked so much already that he was afraid his luck would desert him yet again. But she had to know everything; it was time she knew everything.

"Scully," he said softly. "I have to tell you something...."

Something in his voice made Scully stop. At that very instant, Scully's body grew stiff. Her body was so rigid it was as if she would snap in pieces. She pulled back, she pulled away, and interrupted him by leaving before he could speak again. "Scully, wait..." he called after her.

But she wasn't there to hear him. In an instant, she was gone.

*****************************************************************************

Mulder stood in the middle of the dance floor, unable to move or speak. He scanned the crowd for a sign, any sign as to where she might have gone. As he looked for his wife, he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

"Care for a dance?" asked Phoebe. 

"No, not really," he replied. 

As he scanned the great hall, he noticed a pair of French doors that led to a terrace. Now Phoebe was the one left dumbfounded on the dance floor as Mulder left to search for his wife.

Mulder found Scully on the terrace, alone. Her back was to him, and when she heard him behind her, she turned around. 

"Scully.." he began. 

"If you're going to tell me that you've stopped loving me," she shot back, "tell me now. Tell me now and tell me quickly. And after you do, I will tell you all the reasons why I will _never_ stop loving you." 

"Scully, wait," Mulder continued, but Scully cut him off. 

"It has been difficult, I know it has been difficult, and I know you blame you for Meena.." 

"Blame you?" Mulder replied, "how could you think that?" 

"How could I not?" she replied. "Mulder, we don't even share the same bed, the same space anymore. How could that happen, _why_ would that happen if you didn't blame me and hate me for it?" 

"Because I blame myself!" he cried. "I blame myself every day, and the longest day I live I'll never stop blaming myself."

Scully fell silent. 

"I swore the day I came back; the very day I knew you were pregnant," Mulder said, "that I would do everything in my power to keep you safe. And when I held our daughter in my arms, I swore on everything that was true and just and right that I would do everything in my power; that I would give my live and soul if I had to to make sure that you and our child would be safe. You've lost so much, Scully..." 

"Have I lost you, too?" Scully asked quietly. "No," Mulder replied. 

Mulder stood silently in front of Scully. He took both her hands in his, and held them for a brief moment. He then took her face in his hands, and lowered his face to hers. Their lips met as though it was the first time, and the kiss was gentle and almost reverent. They stood there like that for a long time. Mulder gently cupped her face in his hands again when he finished, gently smoothing her cheek with his finger.

"No. You haven't lost me. Not now, not ever."

Scully reached up, and pulled his face down to meet hers. She kissed him with such longing and passion that the universe stood still, and all of creation held its breath. Their lips parted, and Scully reached up to stroke his cheek with her fingers.

Mulder paused for what seemed to be an eternity before he spoke again.

"I've found Meena. She's here in London, with the baby."

***************************************************************************

Scully was speechless. So many emotions swirled through her head. She didn't know if she should be angry with him for not telling her sooner or overjoyed that he had found their daughter; she was overjoyed that her grandchild was alive, and worried about their safety. She didn't know what to feel, but she knew that her husband wouldn't tell her this if it wasn't true. Mulder read her thoughts. 

"I didn't tell you sooner because I didn't know it was her. I didn't completely trust that I wasn't hallucinating when I saw her at Heathrow..." 

"She was at Heathrow?!" Scully exclaimed. 

"She disappeared into the crowd before I got a chance to follow her. I didn't make the same mistake today." 

"Today..?" Scully began. 

"In Harrods. She didn't remember me, Scully. Not at all. Nothing about her old life." 

"Then it's amnesia brought on by sudden stress, head trauma," Scully replied. "I don't think so, Scully. I think she's been brainwashed. She stood in front of me and told me this elaborate life story that she's been led to believe is true. But something's wrong, Scully, something's off. Every time I questioned her, tried to dig deeper into this so-called 'history', she'd get a headache. Every time." 

Scully moved towards the French doors. "We can't waste any more time, Mulder. If she has been brain washed and she mentioned anything about your meeting with her today, the person or persons who did this will waste no time in moving her and the baby...." Scully reached the threshold, and stopped suddenly. 

Mulder came up behind her. "What is it, Scully?"

He soon discovered what it was. 


	27. A Very Important Date

Although Meena wished she hadn't agreed to do this for her friend, she was thankful for the escape.

Meena spent the forty-five minutes she should have used to get ready looking for her wedding album. She started in the closets, looking through boxes, moving clothes around, and looking in suitcases. She moved on from there to the dresser, searching through drawers back to front. Drew found Meena in the guest bedroom, where she had emptied the contents of each drawer and box and was sitting in the midst of the melee. 

"I suspect you really don't want to go to this affair tonight," he said. 

"We promised Charlotte and Roger we'd go," Meena replied.

"But you haven't even begun to get ready, and you haven't fed the baby yet," he shot back. 

"Funny, Drew," she replied, "I don't see any impediments keeping you from than job." 

"Sweetheart, why the sudden interest in finding a silly photo album?" asked Drew. 

Meena stared at him in disbelief. She stood up, trying to rub yet another headache out of her system. "I'm so glad you feel that way about one of the only extant records of our union that isn't our child. And if you dare do something as stupid as to question whether Nigel _is_ yours," Meena said before Drew could reply, "I will smack you silly."

Meena brushed past Drew on her way to the Master Bedroom. The delivery from Harrods arrived while she was searching for their wedding album, and Drew had placed it in the middle of their bed. 

"Honey, I'm really worried about these headaches," Drew replied. 

"Then don't give them to me," Meena replied as she took her dress out of the Harrods wrapper. "How am I giving them to you, sweetheart?" he replied. "I've done nothing but tried to be supportive, especially of late. It isn't my fault that you didn't go to see Dr. Moriarty today; and quite frankly, I don't see where the headaches _are_ my fault. And it's not like I haven't had them as well," he continued. "In fact, I've got a real ripper of a headache right now...!"

Meena stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She managed to pull herself together and get dressed in a half an hour, and was annoyed when she saw Drew had not used the guest bathroom to get ready. 

"I'm not going," he replied as Meena stood in front of her. "Not with this headache. And I can't believe you're insisting on going if you still feel the way you do." 

"I feel just fine," Meena lied. "I made a promise to our friends," she said as she grabbed her wrap, "and I intend to keep my end of the bargain even if you won't." 

Meena pulled up to Sternwood castle, twenty minutes past fashionably late. She gave the keys to the valet, and hurried across the drawbridge into the great hall. They were closing down the reception table when she handed the greeter the invitation, but she was still able to make her way inside. They were able to find her a seat at a table in the far corner of the room and although they had begun to clear away the plates, the waiter was able to bring her dinner from the kitchen. Although she thanked him for the effort, her headache was so intense that she couldn't eat. She picked at the filet mingion, finally surrendering after two bites. She sipped at the champagne, but the headache made everything taste flat to the point of nausea. 

"Mum," the waiter said as he took her plate away, "We're asking everyone to move closer to the dance floor in order to close up some of the gaps. Would you be so kind as to move closer? There's a table over there." The waiter pointed to the Northeast corner of the floor. "I've waited on them, and they seem to be a lovely group. There's even a couple from America who seems simply smashing." Meena nodded, and moved to the table. By the time she made her way across the room and to her new table, all of its occupants had left; Meena assumed they were all out on the dance floor. Meena listened as the band played "Moonlight Serenade," the selection the bandleader announced shortly before the waiter asked her to move. She watched as the crowd moved and glided across the floor, swept away by the dulcet strains of music. She closed her eyes.

"God, if these headaches would just go away!"

***********************************************************************

Scully stood on the threshold between the terrace and the great hall. Mulder came up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What is it, Scully?" He soon discovered what it was. The music ended, and the crowd parted as they waited for the next set. Through the break in the crowd, Mulder and Scully stared across the dance floor at the woman at their table.

Meena. Their daughter, Meena, was sitting at their table.

"That's her, Scully...." Mulder moved to go towards the table when Scully stopped him. "Wait, 

Mulder," Scully replied. 

"Scully..." 

"Mulder, we don't know what kind of mental state she's in. Seeing you again, seeing us together, might throw her into a psychotic break - you know that." 

"We can't loose her again, Scully" 

"And we won't." Scully answered. "Stay here. Promise you won't do anything until I get back." Mulder didn't answer. "Trust me, Mulder. Trust me as I trust you." Mulder nodded in agreement.

Scully made her way through the crowd as the band began another set. They had chosen Glenn Miller's "Little Brown Jug," and the floor filled quickly with eager dancers. Just before she made it to their table, Meena stood up, and began to leave. Scully almost reached her when Phoebe held her back. 

"Well, I was beginning to wonder where you two were," Phoebe said as she grabbed her by the shoulder. 

"Please, Phoebe; not now!" Scully replied. Scully didn't wait for an answer, but pushed forward. 

Scully caught up to her daughter, separated only by two of the waitstaff who stood between them. Suddenly, the staff people made a quick turn left to go to another part of the castle, and Scully stood directly behind her daughter. Just as she went into the ladies' room, Scully caught a glimpse of the back of her neck. Meena's dark auburn locks were pulled up into a French Twist, and just next to an unruly tendril, Scully saw the mark. 

It was a small puncture wound, located behind Meena's right ear. It was the site of numerous injections, and she had to stop herself from touching the mark in an effort to soothe it away. 

Meena entered the ladies room and Scully stood outside. Scully the Agent fought with Scully the Mother as to what her next step should be.

Scully the Mother won. She followed her daughter inside. 

**************************************************************

Meena ran the water, and grabbed a guest towel. She soaked a corner of it in the cool water, and pressed it to her temples, her forehead, and the back of her neck. Her headache, already bad, was made worse by the band's next piece. She also had visions of the young girl again, this time dancing with a tall, muscular man with glasses and what looked to be a balding head. She still couldn't make out a face, or who it was.

She couldn't go on this way; Drew was right. If the treatments had, for the most part, worked for Drew, then why didn't they work for her? Had she not tried enough? Had she not spent countless doctors visits, taken countless shots...? She fingered the small, raised scar behind her right ear. She just wished she had more to show for it - peace of mind would have been lovely.

The door to the ladies room opened, but she didn't notice the woman in the Midnight Blue evening dress with the red hair. The woman stood next to her and washed her hands in the basin next to hers. 

"Someone you love is thinking of you," she said. 

As soon as the woman in the Midnight Blue dress with the red hair spoke, the splitting headache that dogged Meena for countless hours in varying degrees stopped. 

Her head was clear, and for the first time in a long time that day, Meena was completely at peace. 

Meena looked over at the woman next to her. "I'm sorry?" she asked. The woman continued washing her hands, never looking up from her task. 

"The clasp on your pendant is turned to the front," she said. "My grandmother always said that meant someone you love is thinking of you." 

"Well," Meena said as she felt her neck for the clasp. "Let's hope someone we love is always thinking of us." 

"They are," the woman said, "I know it." 

Meena raised her head in an effort to feel for the clasp. "May I?" the woman said as Meena tilted her head back. "Please - thank you so much," she said. The woman stood next to her, tilting her head under her neck to get a better view. She gently took the clasp, and turned it back to where it was supposed to be. She took the pendant, and gingerly placed it in its proper location. 

"There you go," she said. 

Meena thought she sounded as though she was on the verge of tears. "Thank you," she said as she turned to face the woman.

But she wasn't there. The only thing Meena saw was the ladies room door as it closed. Meena never saw the woman's face, and the only thing she was left with was a profound sense of loss.

***********************************************************

Scully found Mulder standing next to their table. Phoebe came up to the table as she approached, and Scully began speaking before she could say a word. 

"It's her, Mulder," she said. "It's Meena." 

"What on earth are you talking about?" Phoebe asked. 

"Our daughter is here," Mulder replied. "We saw her here, at this table." 

"Your daughter...?! You mean the woman who almost pressed charges against you at Harrods? Certainly you can't be serious," Phoebe replied. She turned to face Scully. 

"Scully, I should think that you'd have better sense than to support this folly." 

"And I would think you'd have better sense than to test me right now, Phoebe," Scully replied. "A mother knows her own child, and knows when she's in trouble." 

"And just what proof do you have of that?" Phoebe shot back. Scully ignored Phoebe, and instead directed her next comments to Mulder. 

"It's just as you suspected. She's been brainwashed - I saw the site of the injections just behind her right ear. Do you remember when Meena was six? The scar is still there from when she fell out of the tree and hit the root - the small scar she has just under her chin."

"It's her, Mulder. It's Meena."

****************************************************************

Scully and Mulder waited at the table and planned for an inevitable reunion with their daughter. They didn't know how she would react; they knew she would be overwhelmed. It was a condition to which they could well relate - they were overjoyed _and_ overwhelmed themselves. And even though it was their fervent hope it wouldn't happen, they were prepared for the heartbreaking possibility that she wouldn't remember them beyond her immediate interaction with them. But they had time and more than enough love to spare. The journey back to the past for Meena would be a difficult and uncertain one. The only thing they were certain of was that whatever the journey and wherever it took them, they would take it together, all three of them, as a family. 

And so, they waited. Phoebe made periodic visits to the table in between being whisked off for a photo-op or an introduction to an official. As the seconds ticked away, Mulder and Scully grew impatient. As the seconds stretched into minutes, they grew increasingly concerned. 

By the time ten minutes had passed, they knew something was terribly wrong. 

Phoebe came back to the table yet again and her eyes, full of skepticism, bore into the couple like sunlight through a magnifying glass. 

"Scully, Mulder..." she began. 

"Don't," Scully interrupted. "Just don't. I know what I saw. You can say whatever you'd like, Phoebe. I know that was my daughter, there isn't a doubt in my mind she was my daughter, and nothing you say can change that. And I _will not_ give up just because _you_ think it prudent." 

"You won't have to," Mulder replied. "Not if I can help it." He stood up. "Wait here." 

"Where are you going?" asked Scully. Mulder brushed an errant strand from Scully's face. 

"To find our daughter," he said.

The two women watched as Mulder made his way through the crowd, and he had barely been gone three seconds before Phoebe spoke. "This is absolute madness! Don't you think, you of all people, Scully, that you should be reasonable? Don't you think you've been through enough - that Mulder's been through enough?" 

Scully stared her adversary down. "Were that the case," Scully replied, "that would be our decision and certainly not yours."

****************************************************************************

Meena decided that she had more than done her duty as a loyal friend. She contemplated for a brief second going back to the table for a few more minutes, but decided against it. She instead went to the cloakroom, traded her ticket for her wrap, and went outside. Drew's father was waiting for her when she crossed the drawbridge. "My son thought you might like a lift home," he said as he leaned against the sleek, white Jaguar. Seeing the concern on her face, he added "Nigel's in the car seat. He seemed to want to go for a ride, and I was more than happy to oblige. Hop in. I'll send somebody back for your car later." He put out his cigarette before he opened her car door. 

"See," he added, "I really do listen. The welfare of my family is my utmost concern." 

"Thank you," Meena replied as she got into the car. "I appreciate that."

The man with the curly, black, salt-and-pepper hair turned on the ignition. "Don't thank me yet. Drew told me about what happened before you left, and I'm afraid I had a small hand in your argument." 

"I don't understand," Meena replied. 

"I must confess that I borrowed your wedding album. I wanted to brag to some friends, and had hoped to have it back before it went missing. I'm afraid I'm guilty as charged." 

"Oh," Meena replied, grateful for an explanation that seemingly filled in one of many gaps. "I can give it back to you tomorrow," he said. "Forgive a doting old man whose only sin was in wanting to show off his beautiful family." 

"That's alright," Meena replied. "Just as long as I know where it is. It just bothered me not knowing - that's all." Meena leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You're too good to us." 

As he pulled away, the cigarette-smoking man with the curly, black salt-and-pepper hair made a mental note to call his people to handle the wedding album issue. He paid good money to have people to take care of things like these, and take care of them, they would.

History was what you made of it, and when you controlled it, you could make it anything you liked. 

****************************************************

Mulder began his search just outside the ladies room. He found one of the waitstaff who saw Meena exit the lavatory. The waitstaff led him to the cloakroom attendant, who led him to the courtyard and valet outside. Mulder described his daughter in detail to the attendant, who nodded his head in agreement as he gave his description. "Yes, sir. She was here. Got into a car - real nice Jag- it was with the gentleman who was waiting for her when she got out. I guess it was her father. He was an older gentleman with curly, black hair - salt-and-pepper hair. 

Smoker," the valet continued. "Definitely a chain smoker." 

Scully left Phoebe at the table, and went in search of her husband. She followed the same trail he had, and found him standing at the end of the drawbridge. 

"I know who's behind this," Mulder said when Scully reached him. "It's him." 

"Him...?" Scully began. She paused for a second. "Mulder, you don't mean.." 

"Jeffery Spender," Mulder replied. "Yes; yes, I do."


	28. A Naked Bulb

It was dark except for the small circle of light on the floor cast by one worklight suspended from the ceiling. He didn't know if it was night or day outside, or for that matter, exactly what day it was. He didn't know where he was, and he couldn't see where he was. He couldn't look left or right, up or down. The thick, steel band that held his head to the chair restricted all head movement. Other similar steel bands held him tight to the coarse, wooden chair, and had held him that way for... How long? He didn't know.

A man with curly, black, salt-and-pepper hair came out of the shadows. He stopped at the edge of the circle of light to light a cigarette. The thin plume of smoke violated the circle of light and the air around them. "You know," said the man, "I am absolutely amazed by how much my son looks like you did when you were younger, Krycek." 

Krycek blinked as he tried to see the speaker. "That's because he's not your son, you sick son of a...."

The pain kept him from finishing his statement. Electricity pulsed through his veins as though someone was driving sharp metal spikes through them; it locked his jaw shut so that he couldn't scream. And oh, how he wanted to scream - in anger, in fear, in frustration.

For help.

His torturer stood completely in the light now. He held a PDA in his hand, stylus poised in mid-air. "I see now why you had so much fun with this when you used it on Skinner," he said. "Of course, technology has made great leaps and bounds since then, and there's no _end_ to the kind of torture I can meet out." Kyrcek gritted his teeth. "Why don't you come over here, Spender," replied Krycek, "I have an overwhelming desire to kick your..." The stylus made contact again with the PDA. "I really can't believe," the torturer said when it was over, "that you still haven't grasped the concept of conditioned response." Spender launched into a macabre rendition of a childhood tune. "There was a scientist had a dog, and Pavlov was his name-o...." He stopped suddenly. "Oh, and by the way, I'm going to give you some news that should cheer you up. I found it out a scant few hours ago from a very reliable source. Of course, she didn't know whom she'd run into, but I did. I did as soon as she told me." 

"Ooo! I'm all a-tingle," Krycek replied. 

He was punished for his sarcasm with two more sharp jolts.

"I guess you never thought when you stowed away on my jet in an oh-so-futile attempt to save a son you never acknowledged and rescue the daughter of your sworn enemy that the Agents Mulder would follow." Jeffrey Spender took a long drag off his cigarette. "Of course, I could say the same thing. I never would have guess you would have been stupid enough to try and stop me six months ago. Fate is a strange thing, isn't it? Who would have known fate would bring all of us here, together? But if there is one lesson that finally took from my father is that fate is what you make of it. It is malleable; controllable. And control it is precisely what I plan to do, with your help." 

"Like hell," Krycek replied. 

His defiance was almost worth the pain he knew would follow.

"Let me make this very simple for you," Spender replied. "Mulder's progeny, your bastard son and the fruit of their loins have given us in one orchestrated `chance' meeting what nature refused to provide all these years - the continuation of the alien-human legacy that began with Mulder. It was his legacy just as it was yours and Marita's. If I hadn't seen them draw blood from that offspring, I would have sworn the black oil coursed through his veins."

"You crazy-ass son of a..." Krycek cried, but the pain silenced him again. Spender crouched down and brought his face within inches of Krycek's ear. 

"Understand this. I control fate, and that fate is that the only memories Mulder and Scully's daughter and your son will have by the end of this week will be those I told them to have. They will live in this world of my making, raising their lovely, bouncing baby boy to adulthood, when he will take his rightful place in the syndicate, by my side as the savior of us all. You will agree to help make certain that will take place without argument or resistance. Or I will leave here right now, and kill them all before the evening news." 

Spender stood up. He took out the PDA, raised the stylus, and brought it down. Just before he touched the screen, he stopped. "I must say, Krycek; you're one tough old man. The kind of torture you've been through would have killed lesser men than you."

Spender brought the stylus down, and the point made contact with the screen.


	29. Reunion

The car sped through the night, quickly leaving Sternwood Castle behind. It was short one occupant; Phoebe, unable to leave the party, would return back to Brittlegate once her duties as honored guest were over. But in light of what had happened, Mulder and Scully couldn't wait, nor did they want to. They had lost too much time already.

The trip back to Brittlegate Manor provided the perfect environment for planning. It also provided the catalyst for the two to begin the long trip back to each other. They shared ideas, argued over hypotheses, worked out strategies. Together. The two of them worked together long after their arrival back to Brittlegate, working late into the night. They didn't want to loose any more time, but sleep finally got the better of them. When both of them found themselves nodding off at the library table, they decided it was time to go to sleep. Mulder pushed his chair away from the table and rose when Scully stood up. "Well," she said. "I guess there's not a whole lot more that we can do until morning." "But we've done a lot tonight, right?" asked Mulder. "I think a lot was accomplished tonight - don't you?" Scully nodded. 

There was an awkward silence as they stood there, facing each other. She wasn't sure what Mulder's response would be, but she had to try. One last time.

"Well..." Mulder began. "Yeah," answered Scully. She took two steps away from Mulder, and stopped. Scully turned to face Mulder and held out her hand. "It's late, Mulder," said Scully. "Come to bed." Mulder said nothing. He simply took two steps towards Scully, and took her hand. 

She led both of them out of the Library, upstairs to their room, and to their bed.

It is said that clothes make the person; it can also be argued that clothes can tell a story. A pair of shoes tossed carelessly aside; a tie that drapes the back of a chair; a tuxedo jacket thrown on top of an ottoman. A Midnight Blue evening gown that fell into a pool of fabric on the floor. Onyx shirt studs and cufflinks that fell scattered on to a dresser. A man's shirt that billows to the ground when removed by a woman's hand.

Oh, the tales these clothes could tell if they only had tongues to speak!

Mulder and Scully laid in bed afterwards, his head nestled against Scully's forehead. Scully's head rested in that that special hollow in his chest created by God just for her. A hand tenderly caressed a cheek; a finger lovingly twirled a strand of hair or traced the outline of a lip or gently stroked a brow. In the end, their arms wrapped around each other tightly, cradling each other, supporting each other.

Loving each other.

"What time do you think it is?" Scully whispered. "What time do I think it _is_," asked Mulder slyly, "or what time's on the clock?" "Well, I'm interested in both interpretations," mused Scully playfully, "but I was thinking we should try to call the Lone Gunmen - let them know what we found out, see if they have any theories." Before Mulder reached for the phone on the nightstand, he bent down to kiss Scully on the lips. "We'll come back to this in a minute," he said.

Mulder picked up the phone, and placed the trans-Atlantic call. Frohicke was the first to answer. "This had better be good," he replied. "I just poured milk on my frosted flakes." 

"You know better than that, Frohicke," Mulder replied form overseas. "Surgeon General says shredded wheat's the way to go for men our age." 

"Speak for yourself, Mulder, you old dog." Frohicke replied. Langley answered on the speakerphone as Frohicke took a bite of his breakfast. 

"Mulder's right - a little fiber can be a wonderful thing. Especially if it means we can finally have the funeral for the thing that died after it crawled up Frohicke's..." 

"Alright, boys - let's keep it clean, shall we?" Scully replied, laying her hand on top of her husband's as he held the phone between them. "Ah! The enigmatic doctor Scully-Mulder!" Frohicke replied. Byers entered the basement hideaway in his home, tightening his bathrobe as he spoke. "Scully!" he replied. "How goes things in merry old, cheery old England?" There was silence on the other end as the Lone Gunmen waited for a reply. 

"Scully? Mulder? Are you guys still there?" asked Byers. 

"Uh, yeah - we're still here," replied Mulder. "Guys.... we've got some news..." 

"Oh my God," Frohicke replied under his breath. "They're getting a divorce. Damnit! I knew it..." Langley elbowed Frohicke so hard that the milk in his cereal bowl sloshed out over the side. "You think you could be a little louder?" Byers hissed. "I don't think the neighbors down the street heard you..." 

"Guys? You still there?" Mulder replied. Byers paused before he spoke. 

"Yeah, Mulder; go ahead. What's up?" It was a minute before Mulder spoke again. 

"Guys, we've found Meena. She's alive. She's alive and here in London with the baby." 

"My little chickadee's alive?!" Frohicke exclaimed. "But the baby's.... We were at the baby's funeral..." 

"Or at least what we thought was his funeral," Langley replied. 

"You're absolutely certain it's her - that it's Meena and the baby?" questioned Byers. 

"As sure as Scully and I have ever been about anything in our lives," replied Mulder. 

"Well, come on folks! Let's bring those little chickadees home to roost!" replied Frohicke. "Yeah, the four of you get your patooties on that big bird and fly on back to the coop," added Langley. "I'm afraid it's not that simple," replied Scully. "Why? Is she hurt?" asked Byers. "What's wrong? Is there something wrong with the baby?" 

"Meena's been brainwashed," Mulder replied. "Whoever got to her has erased any memory she had of us, of her life prior to being here in London, and has fabricated a whole existence rooted here on England's green and verdant shores." 

"You guys remember the time when I flew out to L.A. -- when you made me think that Mulder needed me out there on a case?" Scully added. "When I was injected with that mind-altering drug? Meena had the same mark behind her ear. I... I was able to get close enough to see it." 

"I was able to confront her today -- I'm sorry, now yesterday at Harrod's," Mulder added. "She said she didn't remember me, but as we spoke, she got this incredible headache." 

"Definitely a sign that she's fighting a repressed memory," Scully replied "And then by sheer coincidence, she ended up at the awards dinner Mulder and I had to go to for Phoebe Greene-Montague tonight." 

"So, the little roundheels finally got married," Langley whispered. "I know it's hard for you, but do you think you could focus?" hissed Frohicke. 

"I took a big chance approaching her tonight," Scully replied. "Not knowing her mental state, I could have pushed her right over the edge..." 

"You're a parent, Scully," Byers replied. "Both of you are. I would have done the same thing." 

"As you can imagine, guys, time is of the essence," said Mulder. "Do you think you can come up with an antidote?" asked Scully. "The drug they're using on Meena is probably a hybrid or a modified version on what was used on you in Los Angeles," Byers replied. "I'm not sure, but I think I know where to start." 

"Don't you worry," answered Frohicke. "We'll do whatever it takes to get you, Meena and the wee one back here safe and sound." 

"It's got to be three in the morning there," Langley added. "You guys should go to bed." 

"We're way ahead of you... But we're not thinking about sleep just yet," replied Mulder. "Huh?" questioned Langley "What do you mean...?" 

"Don't think about it so hard, and you might just figure it out," replied Scully. "Good night, guys. And guys? Thanks. For everything."

The three men heard the phone click as Mulder and Scully hung up on the other end. "Man, I can't imagine the stress those two are going through," replied Frohicke. "Yeah," answered Langley. "Like I completely didn't get that last comment..."

As soon as he finished his statement, the light bulb switched on for all three of them.

"OH!"

"Well, I should say it was about damn time," Frohicke replied. "Mulder, Scully... You go guys!"

It was 3:15 a.m. when Mulder hung up the phone, and although it was late, he and his wife stayed awake talking to each other, touching each other, and loving each other well past that gray dawn-before-dawn and into the bright light of a brand new day.


	30. A Different Touchstone

He found her in the sunroom, sitting in the window seat they had built together when the girls were little. The morning sun caressed her cheek, enhancing an already iridescent radiance in her face. But she would have looked that way to him whether it was the brightest day, grayest afternoon or darkest night.

Mulder had his touchstone, and John Fitzgerald Byers had his.

She turned to face him as he approached, and when he reached her, Byers brushed a stray hair from her forehead. There were more silver threads than gold in her hair, but it didn't matter. She loved him despite the fact that his hair and beard had gone almost completely white. He loved her, and thanked God and the powers that be every day for bringing her back to him again. 

"Ah, Dickens, I see," said Byers, referring to the weighty tome in her lap. "`A Tale of Two Cities', nonetheless," she replied. "`It was the best of times; it was the worst of times,'" she said as she quoted from Dickens's masterpiece. "I read somewhere that the first sentence in that book was the longest sentence ever recorded in literature," Byers replied. "Well, I shouldn't wonder," replied his wife. "He was paid by the word, like most authors of his time. But I still think he had a way of weaving a tale that is pure magic, even though he may have been a bit verbose."

Byers let his hand trail down to her cheek, and she pressed it against her face as she nestled it in his hand. "What were you going to ask me, John?" she said quietly. "Much as I would love to, I hardly think you intended to spend the morning talking about great works of literature." She looked up into his face. "I know something's troubling you, John. Your forehead has that funny little furrow you get when you have something you're afraid to tell me or ask of me."

Byers bent down and, lifting her face gently by the chin, kissed her. "I don't know how I can ask this of you. It was another lifetime ago. We've been so happy..." 

"And we're happy now," she replied. "And now is all I care about. The past and the future will take care of themselves -- they always have. I have nothing to fear or want as long as I know I have you, and you should know the same because you have me - always. What is it, John? You saved my life. Anything you ask of me, I will give."

Byers sat on the window seat at her feat, and took her hands in his. "I wouldn't ask this of you if it weren't so desperately important to two people we both know and love." He paused, and took a deep breath before he continued. "As you know, Mulder and Scully's daughter disappeared six months ago. Langley, Frohicke and I have been searching along with Mulder and Scully to try and turn up any lead we could to find her. As you may or may not know, Mulder and Scully had to go to London on business for the Bureau. They've found her - Meena. She's alive, and in London with the baby we though she'd lost." 

"That's wonderful!" his wife exclaimed. Now it was her turn to pause. "But there's something else, isn't there?" 

"Meena has no memory of her parents, her life before, of anything before her disappearance," Byers replied. "She was confronted by both her mother and father, yet had no memory or recognition of either of them. In each instance, Meena had an intense headache - it's Scully's belief as is Mulder's that she's fighting a repressed memory. Scully was able to get close enough to her to discover something...." 

"A small, red puncture wound just behind her ear," his wife replied quietly. Byers nodded. "I see," she replied.

Byers looked out the window before he spoke again. As he did, he saw the swing that still hung from the great oak tree in their back yard. They had spent so many times out there, he and his wife, sitting in it alone together or with the girls as they were growing up. Their lives had been so different from what could have been. They'd had a happy existence. How could he ask this of her? 

"Jacqueline...." he began. "Call me Suzanne," replied his wife. "It was when I was Suzanne Modeski that I created the Anolytic Hystomine they're probably using on Meena now, and the antidote. And it's who you should speak to now."

Byers released his wife's hands from his in protest. "No, I won't do it," he said. "What choice do you have, sweetheart?" she replied. "Whether I am Suzanne Modeski or whether I am Jacqueline Byers I am the only person who knows where to start." She reached over, and stroked her husband's cheek. "I owe my life to you, John Fitzgerald Byers, and I've never forgotten that. Don't be afraid to ask this of me, sweetheart. It's alright. I've already done it." 

"What do you mean?" asked Byers. "I have to confess," his wife began. "I already knew that you were going to ask this. I found out when I went downstairs to start some laundry. All the safety measures in the world will not work, sweetie, if you leave the door cracked to your hallowed inner sanctum." 

"So you mean you heard everything?" asked Byers. "Every word and every syllable," she replied. "So the answer is yes; I will do it. I already have."

Byers, overjoyed, reached over and hugged his wife, knocking the book in her lap onto the floor. "My darling, my darling thank you! You know I'll do anything - the guys and I will do anything to help you with this. We can pull together a working lab to help you come up with the antidote, help you work on the formula..." 

"I'm way ahead of you, sweetie," replied his wife. "The formula's already done. I just need to adjust it the allow for any possible advancements or instability in what they're using on Meena." 

"That's great!" replied Byers. "Where is it?" 

"On the floor," replied his wife. "Right there. If you pick it up, I'll show you."

The former Suzanne Modeski pointed to the book on the floor. Byers bent down and picked it up, fanning the pages of the book before he handed it to her. "I don't understand," he replied. His wife turned to the last page of Dickens's masterpiece, and removed the flypaper backing to the back cover. When she did that, a white, folded piece of paper fell out onto her lap. She unfolded it, and handed it to Byers. "It was one of the first things I did after you sent me away from Vegas," she replied. "I made a promise to myself that I would be ready, no matter when, to correct what I had done by creating this horrible drug." She paused. "The second was that, no matter how far I had to travel or how long I had to look, that I would find you again and that we would be together. So you see," she continued, "I knew this moment would happen all along."

Byers took his wife's face in his hands. "I love you, Mrs. Byers," he said softly, "But not as much as I love you," she replied. "Now let's cut the chatter, and get to work."

****************************************************************************

The call finally came at five p.m., just as Mulder and Scully were getting ready for dinner, and the butler rang the phone in their guestroom with the trans-Atlantic call. "There's a call for you, sir," the butler said when Mulder answered. "A Mr. Walter Skinner calling from Florida." 

"Go ahead," replied Mulder. "Sir, are you there?" the butler asked, referring to the caller on the other end of the line. "This is Walter Skinner," the caller replied. "Very well then, sirs," the butler answered, "ringing off."

Mulder waited for the click of the extension to speak. "Skinner - what's up?" he asked. "You know, I'd forgotten what fun we had when we did this to Scully in Vegas," Langley answered. "even after all these years, you've gotta admit I still can fake a mean digitally copied voice..." 

"Like you fake most everything else in your life," answered Frohicke. 

"You're just sore because, unlike some of us, I can walk and chew gum at the same time," Langley replied. 

"Much as I'd love to hear you guys discuss your endless talents, I'm afraid we're running out of time," Mulder replied. "I agree," replied Byers wife on the speaker phone.

Mulder motioned to Scully to pick up the extension in the next room. "Mulder, you remember my wife, Jackie?" Byers said as Scully picked up the extension. "Yes, of course," replied Mulder. "Good to hear from you again, Jackie," Scully replied when she joined the conversation. "I wish it were under better circumstances," replied Jackie. "Hopefully those circumstances will get better with your help," answered Scully.

"I'm going to let my wife fill you in on what's transpired since our last conversation," Byers replied. "John told me that your daughter has been brainwashed, and the symptoms you described to him mimic those brought on by the anolytic histamine I created a number of years ago," Jackie began. "You should be familiar with those symptoms yourself, Scully - you were injected with the drug in Vegas, as was Langley." 

"Yes, I remember," Scully answered. 

"Even though I had an antidote for the anolytic histamine back then, my concern now is that the formula that may have been used in your daughter's case could be much stronger and more unstable than it was originally, thus rendering the old antidote useless. I'm also concerned with the number of injections your daughter may have received." 

"So what are we looking at, Jackie?" asked Mulder. "I made adjustments in the anolytic histamine and the antidote, and tested them on Langley," Jackie replied. "The fun part was strapping him down on the table and duct-taping his mouth shut," Frohicke interjected. "Frohicke, please!" chided Byers. "Don't tell me it wasn't as much for you as it was for me," Frohicke shot back. "I'm sure a good time was had by all, guys, but that's not why we're here," Scully replied.

Jackie continued with her findings. "The antidote worked almost as I expected..." 

"Why almost?" Scully interrupted. Byers answered the question for his wife. 

"The only flaw we discovered with the antidote concerns the way it was administered." 

"Or rather the time we administered it," Jackie replied. Jackie paused before her next statement. "We discovered that administering the antidote too close to the time of injection with the anolytic histamine could cause serious adverse reactions." 

"What kind of adverse reactions?" asked Scully. Jackie paused again. "Don't hold out on us, Jackie, just to spare our feelings," Mulder replied. "We know there are risks, and we're willing to take them, if need be." 

"Including a complete psychotic break?" asked Jackie. "Langley suffered a psychotic break that resulted in complete catatonic episode that lasted for almost an hour," Byers said quietly. "That's why it took us so long to get back to you." 

"We were working on the problem when Langley snapped out of it," Frohicke added. "My concern is," Jackie continued slowly. "that we don't know how much of the anolytic histamine is in Meena's system. There is the possibility that there is a high level of it, almost to the point of toxicity. If the timing is off, if the antidote is administered after she's been injected with the A.H...." 

"It could push her into a catatonic state," finished Scully. "Yes," replied Jackie. "And quite possibly one from which she would never recover."

Conversation stopped on both sides of the Atlantic as the news sank in. "I could try to come up with another antidote," began Jackie. "They don't have the time," answered Byers. "We've already lost a day - who knows which treatment will be the one to permanently erase Meena's memories for good?" 

"So risking complete and irreversible catatonia is a better choice?" argued Jackie. "But it's our choice," answered Scully quietly. "And it's a chance we're willing to take." replied Mulder.

Conversation stalled for the second time on both sides of the Atlantic. "I have to say that I don't recommend this," Jackie began. "I know," replied Mulder. "I know. But it's the only hope we have." 

It seemed like an eternity before Jackie spoke again. "The formula for the antidote has been sent via encrypted files to your laptop; the Lone Gunmen assured me that this was the best way -- that the two of you never left home without it." 

"You know us too well," replied Scully. "I'm sure Phoebe will allow you use of the Yard's laboratories, if she knows what's good for her," added Frohicke. "Don't worry - we'll take care of everything here, including Phoebe," replied Mulder.

"Well, I guess that's all, then," Byers replied. "Keep us posted," Langley added. "We want to know when to break out the champagne when you guys get back." 

"We will," Mulder replied. "Jackie.... I want you to know how much this means to us," Scully added, "and how hard this had to have been for you. Thank you's not enough." 

"What's hard is knowing that I created something that has brought so much sorrow to so many, including to those I know and love," replied Jackie. "But you've created something that will bring us infinite joy," replied Mulder. 

"You've given us a way to bring our daughter home."


	31. Doctor's Orders

Meena sat on the examination table, but didn't get undressed. She didn't plan to spend that much time in Dr. Moriarty's office; in fact, she told the sitter she'd hired to expect her back in about an hour and a half. What she had to say and do should only take about twenty minutes tops, and she didn't expect any problems.

At least, she hoped she wouldn't have any problems.

Dr. Moriarty knocked on the door, then opened it after a few seconds. "Oh, I'm sorry, Meena - I thought you were ready," he said when he noticed Meena hadn't changed into an examination gown. "No, doctor; that's alright," Meena answered. "Actually, you can come on in, if you would." Dr. Moriarty entered the examination room, closing the door behind him. "Nurse Westlake said you had a few questions. What seems to be the problem." Meena paused for a moment in an effort to screw up her courage and formulate exactly what she was about to say. 

"Meena, my patient's welfare is my first concern," Dr. Moriarty began. "I want you to feel as though you can tell me anything, and that we can discuss anything about your healthcare." 

"That's good, Dr. Moriarty," replied Meena, "because that's precisely why I'm here. I wish to discontinue treatment for my headaches and try an alternative method. I don't feel the shots are working, and I think it's time to explore other options."

Dr. Moriarty looked at Meena, and she thought it looked as though he were taken aback. "I'm sorry if this startles you, doctor, but..." 

"Well, quite frankly I don't know what to say," he replied. "I mean, I thought the treatments were going along quite well. I really feel that if you give them more time..." 

"But I've given them almost six months, doctor, and they don't seem to be working." Meena replied. "The headaches I thought were gone have come back, and have been back for over a month now." 

"Ms. Cartwright, I really have to caution you about making decisions about things which you know nothing about. You are not a doctor," he continued. "I know my own body," interrupted Meena. "I know what doesn't work, and most importantly, I know how I feel." 

"Ms. Cartwright... Meena," Dr. Moriarty cajoled, "you have two treatments left - one today, and one two days from now. Now, I really can't make you do something against your will, but I would caution you to think very strongly about this. Take the final two treatments and see what transpires. The treatments will work if you give them the opportunity to work."

Meena listened as he made his arguments. She hated this; she had come to this office ready and convinced to stop treatments that had no visible effect on a constant and chronic condition, but.... He made a convincing argument. Or did he? She didn't know - all she knew was that she wanted to know one minute, one second, one day without excruciating pain. And what other options did she have except the one that was presented to her right now?

"Very well, doctor," Meena replied. "But if these last two treatments don't work, I must insist that we examine other options." "Not to worry, Meena," the doctor replied. "I assure you these two treatments will be the last ones you'll ever need." 


	32. Request Denied

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I simply can't allow it."

Mulder was sitting across from Phoebe in her office at Scotland Yard. "You know my feelings about this whole thing, and I'm certainly not going to enable you and your wife to perpetuate this fantasy." 

"It isn't a fantasy, Phoebe," Mulder shot back. "Even if you don't believe that I saw Meena at Harrods', you can't discount the fact that Scully saw her the other night at dinner." 

"Based on what, Mulder? A scar on the young woman's chin?" Phoebe replied. 

"A distinguishing mark, Phoebe - one of the criteria we use in identifying suspects - suspects, Phoebe. We're talking about my wife and my daughter." 

"Mulder," Phoebe began. "Let us use the lab, Phoebe." Mulder replied. "You once said that if there was anything you could do for me..." 

"How dare you presume to use our friendship in such a manner?" Phoebe shot back. "How dare you put me in this position? You're asking me to compromise my position, my reputation here at the Yard for what amounts to a search for a needle in the proverbial haystack. And then to inject someone you think is your long missing daughter with a mind-altering drug. This is a public relations nightmare that I will not allow to happen, and most certainly not while you and your wife are a guest in my house!" 

"A situation I am more than happy to rectify by leaving as soon as possible," Mulder replied.

Mulder rose to leave when Phoebe reached across the desk to stop him. "Mulder, wait. This is.... This is not the way things should be between us. Please - continue to stay at Brittlegate as my guest. You and Scully. But you have to understand that this puts me in a very awkward situation. If I could help you, I would. But there's just no way around this. You'll have to find another way."

Mulder stood up. "Don't worry, I will. I just thought I wouldn't have to."

The door to the adjoining office opened two minutes after Mulder left. "That was a very nice touch at the end, Lady Montague," Krycek said. "It would have been very upsetting to the person I work for if Mulder and his wife were not where one could keep an eye on them." 

"I really don't care what you or your associate think," replied Phoebe. "Oh, but I think you should," Krycek replied. "I think you should care very much what we think, and especially what others might think of you." Phoebe turned to face Krycek. "Oh, I wouldn't look so shocked, Lady Montague. I'm sure you're well aware of the damage it would do to your reputation if word got out that the Yard's most valued employee embezzled funds from her late husband's charity. Oh, I know that you had every intention to pay it back as soon as you could, but running an estate is quite an expensive task. I wonder how you would ever dig yourself out from under the mountain of debt you've amassed since your husband's demise..." Phoebe raised a hand to strike her accuser, but Krycek stopped it in mid-air with his own. "And of course there is the issue of poor, poor Lord Montague's demise." 

"It was an accident. The autopsy proved it. The inquest cleared me of any wrongdoing," Phoebe began. "Oh yes, I'm well aware of that," Krycek replied, "But evidence has the nastiest habit of popping up when you least expect it. Especially if it's carefully manufactured to fit the crime. A skill at which my associate is quite adept."

Phoebe pulled her arm out of Krycek's grip. "It has served me well, Lady Montague," replied Krycek, "especially of late, to remember exactly who it was that I was dealing with. You'd do well to remember the same."

****************************************************************************

Scully thought it best not to accompany Mulder to Phoebe's office. She thought her husband would have a better chance of pleading their case alone than if she was there. And although she knew it was important, she simply couldn't bring herself to ask something of a woman who had worked so hard to destroy her marriage. She just didn't have it in her.

Scully instead went to Notting Hill, walking the streets of the trendy little town in an effort to clear her mind. She looked in shop windows without seeing their displays; walked into stores without really seeing their wares. She smiled ever so slightly and shook her head when proprietors would ask if she needed any help or if they could suggest a book or a nick-knack. She simply didn't hear them

She had other things on her mind.

As a doctor, she knew that no medical procedure, no treatment came completely without risk. Aspirin could lead to intestinal bleeding, penicillin could cause allergic reactions that could lead to hives and death in the worst case. Every treatment had its own risks. But risks were easy to ignore and easy to discount when you weren't talking about your own daughter.

Scully stopped in front of a bookstore window, looking in the window and at her own faint reflection in it. Looking for answers that seemed just beyond her grasp.

"I believe it was you who told me someone you love is thinking about you when your clasp is turned to the front - was it not?"

Scully turned to her left. She stood face to face with Meena, who was pushing a baby in a carriage.

Her grandson. 

"Looks like it's your turn now." Meena replied. Scully stood there speechless. "I'm sorry - maybe I was mistaken." Meena began to leave. "Sorry to trouble you..." 

"No, wait; no you're not mistaken," Scully blurted out. She raised her hand to her throat in an effort to find the clasp, but the normally unflappable Scully was so nervous that she couldn't find the clasp. "May I?" Meena asked as she reached towards Scully. "It gives me the chance to return the favor." Scully nodded. Meena rolled the carriage so that it was next to the two of them, and then reached for the necklace around Scully's throat. "There you go." Meena said after she was done. "That's a lovely crucifix," Meena replied. "It's very simple, delicate." Scully fingered the crucifix at her throat - the same crucifix her mother had given her when she was thirteen; the same crucifix she had given her own daughter when she was the same age.

The same crucifix she had removed from her daughter's neck when she thought she had died before her very eyes.

"Faith can be a very delicate thing, can't it?" Meena asked. "Delicate, yet strong almost at the same time. But it only takes a little bit of faith to make it through the darkest of times, doesn't it?" 

"Yes; yes it does" Scully replied.

The baby in the carriage began to fuss. "Well, it seems that someone wants to join in the conversation," Meena said as she picked up the baby. "Who's our little fussy-budget, hmm? Who's our little fussy-budget..." It took everything in Scully not to gasp. It was the same thing she'd say to Meena when she would fuss.

Scully looked at Meena, and noticed that she frowned a little bit. "Are you alright?" asked Scully. "Yes; I'm fine, thank you. Just my constant companion these days." 

"Excuse me?" questioned Scully. 

"It's nothing - it's a headache. I'm under a doctor's care for it, but it doesn't seem to be working...." The baby suddenly squirmed, and turned to face Scully. He reached for the necklace around Scully's neck, but Meena pulled back slightly so that it was just out of reach. "No, that's ok," Scully replied. "He's not the first baby to reach for this necklace. It's alright."

When Meena pulled away, the baby began to fuss ever louder. He reached with two cubby little hands for Scully, squirming as he did to escape his mother's grasp. "Well, he certainly is flirting with you today," Meena replied. She paused for a moment before her next statement. 

"Would you... Would you hold him for just a minute? It's about time for his bottle - I think that's why he's being such a fusspot. It would just be until I get his bottle."

Scully couldn't speak. She simply nodded, and reached toward Meena for the baby. The baby went willingly, cooing, laughing and giggling as soon as he was in her arms. She smelled the familiar baby smells of powder and lotion; felt the soft fleshiness of his chubby little arms and legs. It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to cry tears of joy and pain. "He's beautiful; simply beautiful," Scully said quietly.

"Oh, but he's a handful," Meena replied cheerfully. "But I wouldn't have it any other way. I've always had this sense that I am so fortunate to have him - it's almost as if I had lost him, and that he was given back to me. I never take him for granted." 

"Nor should you," Scully replied. Scully reluctantly tried to hand the baby back to his mother, but the baby would have none of it. "Well, it looks like you're going to need to feed him," Meena replied. "I'm sorry - I haven't even introduced myself. My name's Meena Cartwright; this is my son, Nigel. I feel so bad; we've known each other such a short time, and already my son and I have taken over your life." 

"You were already a part of my life," Scully thought.

Scully looked up from feeding the baby - her grandson - to notice that Meena was watching with a slight frown. "Are you sure you don't want to do this?" Scully asked. "No; no - it's alright. Headache again." 

"What does your doctor say?" inquired Scully. "He says I should finish the two treatments I have left, and stop complaining," Meena replied. "I was supposed to have a treatment today, but... I'm afraid I bolted. Left the office without so much as a by-your-leave."

Meena looked at Scully holding her son, and noticed that he was halfway done with his bottle. "I'm afraid he's a slow eater sometimes," Meena said. "It's alright," replied Scully, "I don't mind." "At least let me buy you a cup of tea. There's a lovely tea shop around the corner. I usually go there when I'm in the neighborhood..."

Meena and Scully heard the ringing from the baby's diaper bag. "Excuse me for one second, won't you?" Meena replied. Meena reached into the bag, and pulled out her cel phone. "This is Meena," she said as she answered. "Yes.... Notting Hill; why? What's wrong? Alright then; I'll be right there." Meena hung up the phone. "I'm afraid I must go. That was my husband..." 

"I hope everything's alright?" Scully replied. 

"I'm sure it is," answered Meena, "He just wants me to come home right away - he says he has some important news."

Scully had to call upon her strength again in order to return the baby-her grandson-back to his mother. "We'll have to have the tea some other time, I suppose," Meena said. "Yes," Scully said, "I would like that very much." 

"Well, it was lovely to see you again," Meena said. She put Nigel in his carriage to prepare him for the trip home. Meena started to leave when she remembered something. "Wait," She said as she turned around. "I didn't get your name..."

The woman she was speaking to, the woman who had held her baby s tenderly as though it were her own, had vanished.

The tears had started as Scully watched Meena place her grandson in his carriage. She left quickly, darting into an alleyway just down the street. It was in this alleyway, in a recessed doorway, that Scully let the tears flow freely down her face and to the ground below.


	33. Doctor Moriarty, I Presume

It was strange and really rather odd. He didn't remember leaving his office in total darkness; in fact, he seemed to remember that when he began the day's appointments, the morning sun was shining through the window and onto his desk. The only way that could have happened was if the blinds were open, and it was obvious now that the blinds had been drawn. It was something he didn't remember doing, or asking anybody else to do for him. He crossed the office, intending to go over to the window, and open the blinds. He didn't realize that he wasn't alone until he was halfway across the room.

"I should think, Dr. Moriarty, that the light switch on the wall would be of greater help to you now."

It was when he heard the voice that he smelled the cigarette smoke in the air. He turned, and saw the orange glowing ember of a cigarette. "Would you rather I turn on the lamp on your desk?" The visitor asked. When he didn't answer, the visitor switched on the lamp on his desk. When his eyes adjusted, Dr. Moriarty realized that the visitor wasn't a stranger at all.

"This is a non-smoking office," he said slowly. The visitor took a long drag off his cigarette, and exhaled, expelling the blue smoke from his lungs. Had the visitor had any vestige of a soul left, it would have been carried aloft in the smoke. But he did not. "I should think not," replied the visitor. "What kind of message would you send, doctor, if it were? It may be a non-smoking office, doctor, but I am a not a non-smoking person. Nor do I intend to begin now." 

Doctor Moriarty thought it best to choose his next words carefully. "I don't believe we have an appointment," he began. "I don't NEED an appointment," the visitor snapped. The man with the curly, salt-and-pepper black hair leaned forward across the desk. "I grow weary of having to remind you of just who works for whom. I believe that you need to think of this visit as a performance evaluation. I, to say the least, am not at all pleased with your recent job performance, and would advise you that unless I see a marked improvement in that performance, you will be subject to a severe reprimand." 

"I have done everything you've told me to do, as instructed," the doctor replied. "Both subjects have been given treatment as prescribed and on the schedule that you yourself dictated. A schedule which, I might add, goes against my best judgment as a medical doctor." 

"Really, doctor," mused the visitor. "On schedule? Does that include today's scheduled treatment for your patient, Meena Cartwright?" Moriarty opened his mouth to speak, but the cigarette smoking man with the salt-and-pepper curls stopped him. "I should tell you, doctor, that I am a firm believer in the use of surveillance to get the answers I want. The answer I got today was that your patient snuck out right under your nose. There was no treatment today, doctor, nor the day before that or the day before that. In fact, she's missed more scheduled appointments than I care to recount."

Dr. Moriarty nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I certainly can't be held responsible if patients choose not to keep their appointments." Before the doctor could continue, his visitor clucked his tongue in disapproval. "You see, this is the kind of job performance and attitude I find so deeply troubling..."

The bullet hit Dr. Moriarty in the chest before he could utter a single syllable in his defense.

The last two visions the doctor had on this earth was that of the overhead lights as they came on and of the cigarette smoking man with the curly, black salt-and pepper hair as he stood over him. 

"I'm afraid I no longer have need of your services, doctor."


	34. Family Ties

Mulder found her waiting for him in the library at Brittlegate. She was looking out of the window into the garden, watching the mid-afternoon sun dance on the grass and the roses and the lavender. It was as if she sensed his presence because she turned to face him as he approached her.

"Scully," he began. 

"Mulder, I saw her again today." Scully replied. "Meena. Meena and the baby. I was in Notting Hill, in front of this book store, and she came up to me. I'd been walking around for what seemed to have been hours, really it was only an hour and a half - it had to have been, but I lost track of time. I don't know how long she was there with the baby. She may have been in Notting Hill for the same amount of time. Who knows how close we came to bumping into each other; how many parallel streets we walked, how many times we crossed each other's paths and not seen each other until that moment...." 

"Scully, wait," Mulder tried again, but Scully never heard him. "She's going by Meena Cartwright; that's the last name they've given her. She's calling the baby Nigel. I held him, Mulder. And there's no doubt in my mind that it was our grandson. He has red hair - remember Meena's hair was read for almost a year before it turned darker, and he has my brother Bill's nose...."

The pain in Mulder's heart was unbearable, especially in light of what he had to tell her.

"She goes to Notting Hill on a regular basis," Scully continued. " There's a tea shop that she goes to when she's there. We were going to go there when she got a call from her husband - I figure that they've set her up with Krycek's son, if he's still alive. That's the most logical thing to do. I'm sure he's undergoing the same treatment, or has just finished it. Mulder, we don't have a lot of time. She only has two treatments left - she told me so herself. What we'll do is try to locate her through public records, and barring that, stake out the tea shops in the area close to where I saw her. Now that we know where to locate her, now that we have some kind of a lead, the only thing left is to develop and administer the antidote...."

The solemn look on her husband's face made Scully stop. 

"We won't be able to use the labs at Scotland Yard to develop the antidote," Mulder replied. "Phoebe will not allow it." 

"Won't allow it? What do you mean, `won't allow it'?" Scully was incredulous. "She has to. I'll talk to her..." Mulder gently but firmly grabbed his wife's arm as she brushed past him. "Don't, Scully." 

"Don't tell me what to do, Mulder," Scully shot back. "She has to do this. It's a matter of professional courtesy; she... she can't ignore a request to honor a reciprocal agreement between the Bureau and Scotland Yard..." 

"Please, Scully - don't do this," pleaded Mulder. "I don't accept this!" Scully yelled. "I will not accept this. I will NOT accept this! I will NOT accept that this will block me and keep me from seeing my daughter! I WON'T ACCEPT THIS, MULDER!!!"

Mulder pulled his wife to him, and held her close. She struggled at first, not against him, but in her frustration at their situation. He rocked her gently in his arms in as much an effort to comfort himself as it was to comfort her. When she finally looked up at him, Scully's eyes were rimmed with tears. 

"I held our grandson, Mulder. I saw our daughter. I was so close. And the only memory she had of me was from the other night. Nothing more. And I couldn't tell her who I was. I couldn't tell her about the family that loves her and misses her and how much she means to us." Scully angrily wiped a tear from her eye. "I should have said something..." 

"You couldn't, Scully - you know that," Mulder replied. "Not without risking irreparable harm..." 

"And not saying anything, I risked never seeing our daughter or our grandson again," Scully replied. Mulder gently lifted Scully's face by the chin as he looked down into her eyes.

"Never say never, Scully," he replied. "Never say never." 

***************************************************************************

Meena drove as quickly as she legally could to Henley-on-Thames. She couldn't place the tone in Drew's voice. She couldn't tell if it was worry or anxiety, confusion or amazement. She had made the trip from Notting Hill more than once, but this particular time seemed to take longer than any other drive.

Something was definitely awry, and she wouldn't be at ease until she knew what it was.

The sight of her Father-in-Law's white Jaguar in the driveway made Meena's heart race in her chest. She pulled quickly in behind it, and was pulling Nigel out of the car seat when Drew called out to her from the doorway.

"Meena! Darling, thank goodness you're home!"

"I should say you've given me quite a start," Meena replied as she carried the baby up the walkway. Drew reached out, and took the baby from her arms. "I'm sorry, love, but it's been quite an eventful afternoon." 

"In what way?" Meena asked. "Well, I have good news and some very disturbing news," Drew replied.

When Meena and Drew entered the living room, two men stood up to greet them. The first man she knew as Drew's father, but the second.... She didn't know the second man at all, but that wasn't what disturbed her.

What disturbed Meena was the fact that the second man looked like a much older version of Drew.

"This is the good news I was talking about, dear," Drew said as he stood next to her. "I don't understand." Drew's father continued where he left off. "Meena, I'd like to introduce Alex Carson. Drew's Uncle." 

"How do you do?" the other man inquired. "I'm sure this comes as quite a shock to you, Meena." 

"It _is_ quite sudden," Meena replied slowly. "I'm afraid that's not the only shock we've had this afternoon," Drew replied. Meena looked at him quizzically, but it was Drew's father who answered her next inquiry.

"I'm afraid Dr. Moriarty is dead," he replied. "A murder-suicide as a result of a lover's spat. Quite tragic really..."

Meena didn't know what to say. She also couldn't shake the sudden sense of fear that ran up and down her spine at that moment. 

*****************************************************************************

He stood outside of the scene and observed the four people in the living room much like an audience member would watch a play or a movie-goer would watch a film. As he participated in this self-imposed out-of-body experience, he took the opportunity to evaluate his life and the moments that had led up to this one. His life hadn't turned out as he had planned, and certainly not as he had wished it to when he was younger. It was the truth, and it didn't make him any different from anybody else in the room or, for that matter in the world. What made his life different was the choices he had made, the path he had chosen, the lives he had effected. All had turned out poorly, all had been bad. And he had only himself to blame. He had the gift few people possessed of knowing exactly when and at exactly which moment his life had changed. It was a clear choice, good or evil - he knew that at the time. He was given a choice, and he didn't chose wisely. And it wasn't as if the universe hadn't given him the chance, the choice, the opportunity time and again to correct his mistakes and change his destiny. But he ignored those chances and he as well as those around him paid for it; some had paid with their lives.

Krycek looked at Andrew, his son. He looked so much like he did when he was a young agent at the Bureau, back when his life was his. Back when he had a choice. And although he could see his youth mirrored in his son's face, he could also see his mother in his eyes. He had Marita's eyes, and sometimes a hint of her smile. It was a mother's instinct to protect her child from danger, to keep her child from harm, to shield that child from evil. 

Marita had been right to keep their son away from him. 

Krycek turned his attention to Mulder and Scully's daughter. She was the perfect blend of the two of them, and anyone who looked at her and knew the two agents could see that. She had her father's Hazel eyes and tints of red in her dark auburn hair. At a petite 5'5", she had her mother's build, and her Irish, porcelain skin. She looked like a Dresden doll, but he could see she had her mother's fiery spirit, her father's intensity and integrity. And he knew that any offspring of the two agents would have their passion for the truth. 

Meena passed out the tea as Drew poured. "So, you're from America, as I understand it." Meena asked. Krycek nodded, but Drew's father answered for him. 

"Drew's mother had family in America, although she was from Great Britain." 

"Then I'm afraid I don't understand the genealogy," Meena said. "I didn't know you had a brother, Dad, so that would make you, Mister Carson, Drew's maternal uncle." "He's my Great-Uncle," Drew replied. "Uncle Alex wasn't a direct sibling to either my mother or my father..." 

"So he probably didn't know your mother all that well," Meena replied. "Actually, that's not quite true," Krycek replied. Conversation in the room stopped. It was the first time he'd said anything since Meena and the baby came home. 

Krycek, fully aware of who sat next to him, chose his words carefully. "Your mother was beautiful, Drew." he said slowly. "I remember that. She had these piercing, clear eyes. You know, you have her eyes. And her smile," Krycek said. "I definitely see her smile in yours."

The baby began to cry in the playpen that was next to the couch. Meena moved to get him, but Drew stopped her. "Let me, dear." He got up from the sofa, reached into the playpen, and pulled out the baby. It was the first time Krycek got a good look at his grandson. He wanted to hold him so much, but didn't dare ask. Besides, everything he touched died. He didn't want that for his grandson.

"I think it may be time for somebody's bottle," Drew said. He bounced the baby in his arms, in an effort to quiet his son. "His royal highness is hungry." Drew looked at his son, playfully tweaking his nose. "Maybe Uncle Alex can tell us where all this curly red hair came from while he's here." 

"I hardly think that's something he can explain in one afternoon," Meena said as she began to clear away the dishes. "Well, of course not, dear," Drew replied. "But I'm sure he can within the next three days." Meena looked at Drew quizzically. "Uncle Alex will be staying with us. He was going to stay at a hotel, but I wouldn't hear of it." 

"Of course not," Meena said coolly. "Besides," Drew continued, "I think it's good that Nigel get to know all his family members."

Without missing a beat, Meena picked up the tray, and turned towards the kitchen.

"Best to bring the baby in here for his bottle," she said slowly. "I'm going to need your help for a minute. I'm sure your father and uncle will excuse us."

The man with the curly, black, salt and pepper hair waited until the door shut before he spoke.

"I suppose I need not remind you of what's at stake here, Krycek, nor is it necessary to remind you of just exactly what I am capable of." 

********************************************************************************

Meena angrily slammed the tea tray on the kitchen counter as the door shut behind them. "Meena," Drew began. "I can accept that you would behave irresponsibly when it comes to matters that concern you and only you," Meena interrupted, "but what I cannot and will not accept that you would be so patently _irresponsible_ as to invite a man who is a virtual stranger into our home simply because he says he's your uncle." 

"Meena, he's family," Drew continued. "Then let his stay with your father," Meena replied. "I don't care if you have that little regard for my safety and for your safety, but the very least I would expect from you is to think about the safety of your son." 

"But he _is_ my uncle - you can look at him and see it!" Drew replied passionately. "Anyone can see it just by looking." 

"Anyone could look at a pile of cow dung and think it's chocolate - that doesn't make it so." Meena shot back. "And quite frankly, I think I'm looking at a very large pile of it sitting right in our living room. The terms in which he described your mother sounded more like one lover describing another - not one relative talking about another family member." 

"You're being silly, Meena." 

"I'm warning you, Drew - I'd think twice about patronizing me..." 

"Do you think my father would bring a complete stranger into our home and try to pass him off as a family member?" Drew replied. 

Meena pulled the baby's bottle out of the microwave, and tested it on her wrist. Satisfied it was safe, she reached for the baby. "Quite frankly, I really don't think you want to know the answer to that," she said.


	35. The Shortest Distance

She wanted to know what happened to her highways in the sky. Like so many of her generation, she had sat in class in grade school and listened to teachers lecture on how life was going to change when the century did; of the hovercraft and countless other inventions that would spring forth from fertile minds to make their lives easier. She was there when they talked about "the paperless society," she was a senior in college when she first used a computer to type her thesis instead of a typewriter. She had seen 1984 come and go without the advent of the Orwellian society the author had so ominously detailed in his famous novel. "Well," she thought, "my husband might not quite agree." So maybe Big Brother did exist, but not with all the dire consequences predicted by the great author.

And so she, along with her classmates, along with her colleagues and contemporaries, watched the march of time. She remembered when the century changed, watching in wonder and amazement as most of mankind celebrated the changing of one thousand years. True, there were those who thought the sky would fall, computers would crash, and all of mankind would be plunged into chaos and darkness, but it didn't happen. And yes, she did worry that mankind would panic as it stood on the brink of nuclear annihilation, but humanity had stood there before. WWI, WWII, the Cuban Missile Crisis.... As long as humanity had a deep and unrelenting fear of its own demise, she felt confident that no one would be that stupid to hasten it. They may come close, they had come close, but thankfully no one had gone that far.

She wondered what happened to her highways in the sky as she sat in afternoon traffic, trying to make a Noon delivery deadline. And she surmised that if, by some twist of fate couple with man's ingenuity there were highways in the sky as they had promised, she'd still be stuck behind the same slow-moving earth mover that had blocked her path for five solid miles.

Jackie Byers nee Suzan Modeski wondered how unseemly it would be for a grandmother to lean out of her car window and cuss like a sailor.

She reached the overseas express office three minutes after Noon, and ran into the office after a cockeyed attempt at parking her car. The counter was the only thing that stopped her as she handed the package to clerk. "I need to send this overseas to Great Britain," she panted. "Sorry, 'mam, but the cut off was three minutes ago," replied the clerk. He never looked up from his paper, and refused to look at her. "But it was only three minutes late; I'm sure the currier hasn't even left yet," Jackie replied. "Certainly you can stop them before they leave for the airport." 

"And if I did that," the clerk replied, "I'd have to do it for every single person who came in here, three minutes after deadline, expecting me to bend the rules for them."

"Well then you'd better get used to being flexible, because that's precisely what you're gonna do."

Jackie recognized the voice, and turned to face her husband. His friend, Frohicke stood next to him. "I want to see you bend over backwards to give my wife exactly what she wants, and when your through, you're going to send my package to the same location as well." 

"Just so happens we have friends waiting on this," Frohicke continued, "And I and my friend here are not above getting medieval on your behind to make sure it gets done." 

The clerk looked up from his paper for the first time. "And just how do you think that will work? Listen, even if I wanted to, I couldn't" the clerk replied. Nobody heard the doorbell as someone entered. "The courier's on his way to the airport..." 

"I don't think so," Langley replied. He held the driver by the scruff of the neck as though he were a tomcat. "In fact, the driver personally assured me that he would wait."

They left the store after they were certain both packages were safely on their way overseas. "I know they won't get this today," Jackie-nee-Susan began. "It has to be near suppertime in Great Britain," Byers finished. "But I thought that maybe, you know, just in case something happened..." 

"My thoughts exactly," Byer's wife finished. "We can try to get ahold of them later to let them know. You've e-mailed them?" Byer's nodded. "Then we've done all we can do." Jackie stopped her husband in the middle of the parking lot to give him a big kiss. Langley and Frohicke looked on in admiration. "See, Frohicke," Langley whispered. "That's what happens when a boy and a girl really, REALLY like each other." 

"And maybe someday that will happen to you, Langley" Frohicke shot back. "But I'm doubting it..." 

*************************************************************************

Mulder and Scully sat at the small table at the inn. They decided it would be best to eat dinner out that night rather than facing the woman who stood in their way. Unbeknownst to them, Phoebe, the woman who had so stubbornly stood between them and their daughter for reasons they would never know, decided to take supper in her room.

Phoebe did not have the courage to face the two of them. Not after telling Mulder "no".

They had ordered a steak and kidney pie to split between them, even after the innkeeper's protest that it was too heavy fare for a summer's night. She brought it to them anyway, and they barely touched it. The ale in their glasses also sat on the table untouched and warmer than it really should have been.

Mulder watched Scully as she watched the foot traffic on the village street, and marveled at the woman he had married. She held his hand as he held his - as though it were the only lifeline as they both hung over a deep precipice. Every so often, a woman, a man, a couple would look through the window at the two of them. "Did they have any idea," thought Mulder, "of how strong this woman is?"

When the innkeeper walked past their table yet again, Scully released Mulder's hand so that she could re-arrange the food on her plate. "I'm afraid we've given the innkeeper a bit of a complex," Scully said as she walked past. "I suppose we could be crass Americans and ask for a doggie bag," Mulder replied. "The food here is actually quite good. It reminds me of an inn I used to frequent near Oxford. Good food even a poor, struggling university student could afford." The two of them managed to take a bite as the innkeeper made her way back to the bar. She smiled at them, satisfied that it wasn't her cooking that had made them not touch their food. Scully was the first to speak after the innkeeper passed their table.

"I was thinking about the antidote, and I think I've come up with a solution." 

"I think I know where you're going with this," Mulder answered. He was a bit puzzled by the look on Scully's face, and paused a second before he continued. "Go on," Scully finally replied. 

"I called The Lone Gunmen after Phoebe... After my meeting with Phoebe. I got the machine, and I tried to call them again after we talked. I think we should go ahead, let them develop the antidote there, and send it..." 

"But there's so little time, Mulder..." Scully began. 

"I know, I know, Scully, but at least they could be working on it. I've been trying to get them and will keep doing so, but I think as soon as I can get through, the process will go a lot faster. We're almost halfway through the twenty-first century, Scully," Mulder continued. "Information, objects, things travel considerably faster than we ever thought they would." 

"Which is fine when you have time on your side," Scully answered. "Time and fate. And I'm not sure that we have either on our side right now."

Their conversation was interrupted by the crying baby two tables over. Out of instinct and a sense of desperate hope, the two of them turned towards the sound, half expecting to see their daughter and their grandson.

It was neither.

It was Mulder's turn to move the food around on his plate in a feeble attempt to mimic a hearty appetite. "Scully.." he began. 

"I have another solution," Scully interjected. "I've gone over this several times since this afternoon.... In light of the circumstances, I don't see any other way." Mulder took his wife's hand in his, half knowing what she was about to say. 

"Scully..."

"Mulder, I want you to sleep with Phoebe." 

Scully tried to continue, but all of a sudden, Mulder reached across the table, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. "I won't do it," he replied when he stopped "Been there, done that, hated it once I wised up." 

"But..." Scully began, and Mulder again kissed her with all the passion and love he felt for her. 

"No, Scully," he replied after he was finished. "I love our daughter, and I love you too much to do that." Mulder held her face in his hands, smoothing away a tear that had fallen down Scully's cheek despite her best efforts. "We will not sacrifice our lives or our family for this," Mulder replied. "There is another way, Scully. We will find it. We will - I know it." He smiled slightly at his wife. "Of course, I am extremely flattered to think that you think I'm still attractive enough to pimp me out to randy senior citizens..."

Scully reached for his hand and pulled it to her lips in a gentle kiss. The two of them looked at each other for a moment when they heard someone call across the inn.

"Fox! Fox Mulder! Is that you?"

Mulder and Scully turned to see a stately looking gentleman with a silver-white goatee and short, white hair calling from the table across the inn He was seated with a woman about Meena's age, who was feeding the baby who had been crying. He got up, and walked over to their table. 

"It has to be you," the gentleman replied. "Good God, man! The very least you could do is have the decency to age a little more. And here I am, looking like a beatnik Father Christmas!" 

It took Mulder a moment to recognize the gentleman, but memories of his days at Oxford finally came to his aid. "Gregory McGracken?!" Mulder replied. The gentleman cleared his throat in mock consternation. "That's Sir Gregory McGracken now" he replied. "I have just enough of an over-inflated sense of self worth to demand that I hear it often, but the actual truth is I'm amazed that the crown saw fit to make me a knight." 

Mulder stood up and embraced his old college friend. "It's been way too long, Gregory," Mulder replied. 

"Indeed. Now, as I remember, they have had regular flights across the Atlantic for, oh...A number of years now." Sir Gregory ribbed. "So I really must know what brings you across the Great Pond this time after, of course, I meet this charming lady." 

Mulder's old college buddy reached for Scully's hand and kissed it as a proper knight should. "Sir Gregory McGracken at your service, mi'lady. I hope I shall have time to regale you with my tales of derring-do..." 

The baby across the room began to wail. "... As soon as I attend to my liege, the grandson." 

"Finally settled down, Gregory?" Mulder replied. 

"Long enough to have a beautiful daughter and son and a grandson to rival King William when he was Diana's bonnie little prince. My wife would have doted on him so," he said quietly. 

"I'm sorry," Scully replied. 

"Meredith was a no-nonsense woman who didn't like pity even when she was ill. She wouldn't want it...." Sir Gregory's eyes began to mist over as he thought of his late wife, but quickly moved on. "I, on the other hand, will take it from a lovely woman any day. What a lovely choice," he whispered to Mulder. "Glad to see you didn't end up with that Phoebe character - every bloke had a go at her, you know...." 

"I'm not surprised," Scully interrupted.

Sir Gregory insisted that Mulder and Scully join them at his table. Mulder tried to sit between Scully and the baby because he thought it would be too hard for her, she immediately asked to switch places so that she could be near him. 

"You never cease to amaze me," Mulder thought as he smiled at her.

"So, what has the famous Bard of Oxford been doing with his life since commencement?" Sir Gregory asked. "I suppose he didn't tell you that he was quite the poet in his youth," he replied to Scully. "Yeah; especially after a couple of pints of ale," Mulder joked. "I did hear you were at the Federal Bureau of Investigation - right when you were working on that case with Phoebe Green. Made the campus rag, it did." 

"We're here on bureau business, actually," Scully replied. "Phoebe received a prestigious honor from Scotland Yard, and we were here for the awards ceremony." 

"So I suppose you're not here for very much longer, then?" asked Sir Gregory. 

"Actually, we're not quite sure how long our stay will be," Mulder replied. "There are some things.... We have to take care of a few things before we head back." 

"Well, let me know if I can be of any assistance," Sir Gregory replied. "I'm not certain what I can do as the head of the Physics department at our old Alma Mater, but I can try. I believe I'm entitled to free lunches in the faculty lounge and, of course, unlimited lab access, but outside of that..."

Mulder and Scully had the same thought at the same time, but it was Mulder who spoke for them both. "Actually, maybe you can help. It just so happens we need lab access for a case - something that the Yard's laboratories can't handle..." 

"Say no more," Sir Gregory replied. "As an alumnus, you have access to the university's resources for a fee, but why pay when I can get you in for free? We can go tomorrow, if you'd like. How about first thing?"

Mulder and Scully's appetite finally returned.

The rest of that evening was spent reminiscing on old times, filling Scully in on stories about Mulder's days at Oxford, and enjoying pleasant and affable company. They talked for hours before the baby decided it was time for all of them to go.

The party couldn't see the van parked on a side street near the inn. The party couldn't see the man inside behind its dark, tinted windows. The party never saw the sonic radar, nor did it know that it was recording ever word of their conversation.

The party said their "good nights" and went their separate ways not knowing any of this, or what was to happen before the break of day.

***************************************************************************

"Are you awake?"

Mulder and Scully chuckled, amused that they both voiced the same question at the same time. "Jinx, Scully - you owe me a Coke," Mulder replied. He lifted his arm so his wife could find that familiar hollow in his embrace. She found it, and snuggled close to him. 

"Did you get any sleep at all last night?" she asked. 

"Enough," Mulder replied. "You, Scully?" 

"About the same. I'm counting on the pure adrenaline to keep me going," she sighed. 

"It's almost as if time was racing forward and standing still at the same time - does that make sense, Scully?" 

"I know what you mean," she replied. "We want to get to the lab, we want, we almost need time to speed up so that we can, but the faster time moves, the more of a possibility that Meena may be closer to finishing those last two treatments. I just hope that we can get to her before she does."

Scully leaned up on one elbow to look at the clock, and as she did, the strap to her nightgown fell from her shoulder. "Seven-thirty," she said. "We'd better get up." Mulder placed his free hand on her arm, smoothing the strap farther down her arm. "We don't have to be at Oxford until 10:30..." Scully leaned into to Mulder for a kiss. "Much as I would love to finish this," she said when she stopped, "I think we should give ourselves plenty of traveling time to get there. We both have to take showers..." 

"Taking a shower together would definitely cut down on time and conserve water, Scully," Mulder replied as he kissed her back. "It would definitely conserve water, true," replied Scully, "But our showers together have never been what I would call quick and dirty." 

"And after I worked soooooo hard on the dirty party," Mulder replied.

Scully climbed over her husband to get out of bed. 

"Mulder..." 

"Killjoy," he replied in mock disdain. 

"Did you want the shower, or should I go?" 

"Ladies first," he replied.

Mulder watched as Scully walked over to the bathroom. "Oh, and Mulder... No fair getting out of that bed until I'm done." Scully slowly shut the bathroom door behind her. 

"The least she could do is leave the door open," he mumbled as he turned over. Mulder was sound asleep as soon as Scully's nightgown hit the bathroom floor.

*******************************************************************************

By the time Mulder awoke from his nap, it was nine o'clock. "Oh shit," Mulder grumbled as he rushed into the shower. "If I'd known I was going to be this late," he thought, "I would have done a better job convincing Scully on that two-in-the-shower idea."

Mulder hurriedly got dressed, and went downstairs. It puzzled him that Scully hadn't come back up to get him. He hoped that she wasn't too mad; maybe even taking a stroll in the garden to get her mind off things. He looked out of the window when he reached the second landing, but didn't see her in the garden. "Yep, I'm toast," he thought as he hurried downstairs.

Mulder went into the dining room, fully expecting to see Scully at the table with her "I really could kill you right now" face. She wasn't there. In fact, it didn't look as if she had even sat down to breakfast. He half expected to see Phoebe there, but her place was untouched as well. 

The butler appeared as soon as he sat down. 

"Good morning, sir. How are we today?" 

"Fine, thank you," Mulder replied. 

"Here's the morning paper, sir. Would you like tea or coffee this morning?" 

"Coffee black, please." Mulder replied. "Geoffrey..." 

"Yes sir?" the butler replied. 

"Am I the first person down this morning?" 

"Oh no, sir," the butler replied. "It's been a very busy morning, it seems. Lady Montague was called away on a case late in the night, and your lovely wife left some time ago." 

"Left?" questioned Mulder. 

"Yes, sir; she borrowed a car; said she had something she needed to take care of, and that I was to tell you not to worry..."

Every time Mulder heard the words, "don't worry" or any derivative thereof, the hackles on the back of his neck began to rise...

"Did my wife say where she was going?" asked Mulder. "I'm afraid not, sir" the butler replied. "Will you be having toast or muffin this morning, sir...?"

Mulder never answered the butler because he never heard him. He was instead fixated on the headline of that morning's paper:

"Oxford Physicist Sir Gregory McGracken and family members killed in M9 car crash."

When Mulder didn't answer him, the butler turned to notice that Mulder was reading the newspaper headline. "Oh, such a tragic accident, sir. They're not quite certain how it happened, but it looks like he, his lovely daughter and grandson were killed on impact. That's where Lady Montague went last night. As per his majesty, King William, any car crash involving a knight of the realm or the royal family must be investigated by the Yard immediately. I'm certain it stems from his mother's car accident so many years ago...."

Mulder never answered the butler because he never heard him. It was suddenly clear what had happened. They had been tailed. They had gotten to his old college chum, and now he and his family were dead.

It also became crystal clear to him where his wife went.

"Geoffrey," Mulder asked. "I need a car and directions to Notting Hill. Can you tell me how to get to Notting Hill? How far are we from there?" 

"Roughly forty-five minutes to an hour sir, give or take with traffic. Shall I have Darcy drive you?" 

"No, I'd rather drive myself," Mulder replied. "I trust you can provide me with detailed directions.." 

"Of course sir; I'll mark them out on a map."

Mulder got his map and a car in short order, and set out for Notting Hill as fast as he could.


	36. Velocity

Maniacal was the only way to describe Scully's driving, and she knew it. But it wasn't an agent hired by the federal government to obey, defend and uphold the laws of traffic and the laws of the realm that drove the car. It was a mother racing against time to save her daughter from imminent danger and irreversible harm. And ultimately, wasn't it her responsibility to protect her daughter and keep their family safe? Didn't fall to her? Meena's safety had been her concern before the day she was born. For the nine months she carried her under her heart and in her soul she worried about her, protected her and almost died for her. And if it meant her life now, today, in order to save her daughter's, she would gladly give it.

Her only stop had been at the filling station to ask directions to Notting Hill and to buy a map. She knew she should call Mulder, she knew she never should have left without telling Mulder, but that morning's headlines only proved to her that time was running out, just as it had abruptly ran out for Sir Gregory and his family.

Just as it could abruptly run out for her and her daughter.

Time had been a cruel and petty thief in her life for as long as she could remember; stealing bits of time here and there, threatening to stop suddenly and end her life with on sweep of the clock's second hand. Time had deprived her of her father, taken away her sister, kept her away from Mulder, in a heartbeat, in a second, in a flash. "But not this time," she thought. "I won't allow it. Not my daughter."

She knew she should call Mulder, but that would require she stop along side the road, as it was illegal in Great Britain to drive while using a cellular phone. She wasn't even sure she had turned on the cell phone, and did not want to pull over to look. She didn't have the time.

And so she drove, passing farms and cottages, valleys, hills and lakes until she reached Notting Hill. She drove around as long as she could, searching every face, every street until traffic, both pedestrian and auto, slowed her down. She then parked the car, and continued her search on foot, walking down every street, going into to every store, searching every face for the one she most wanted to see.

Her daughter's.

At ten thirty, she found herself across the street from the bookstore where she had last seen her daughter and her grandson. For the first time since her arrival, she stopped. She took the time to hope against all hope that she and the fates could come to a compromise; she hoped against all hope that fate would be kind and let her see them one more time. What she saw, however, was not what she had expected at all.

Krycek, going into a store with her daughter. 

****************************************************************************

Meena had spent the night on the couch, unable to really sleep. She didn't know anything about the man who claimed to be Drew's long-lost uncle, the man who had spent all night under their roof. Early in the morning, Nigel awoke from a bad dream, and Meena raced upstairs, certain that her baby was in danger from the man who had invaded their home. When she entered the nursery, she discovered the only terror her young son faced was the horror of a wet diaper in the middle of the night.

And so, after she changed her son's diaper and quieted his fears, she went downstairs to the couch, and stayed there, watching infomercials and reruns of old game shows on the Tellie. She told herself it was because she couldn't sleep, and because she didn't want to wake Drew. But the real reason was that she was standing sentry, and she knew it. But wasn't it her responsibility to protect her child? Didn't it fall on her to watch over her family? Apparently she couldn't depend on Drew to do it; he was too smitten with what seemed to him to be the obvious - that a total stranger was his blood kin. 

She would what she needed to do to protect her son, without hesitation and certainly without apology.

She didn't turn to face Drew as he came downstairs, rather she focused on the morning talk show. "You didn't spend the night down here, sweetie, did you?" Drew said as he stood behind her. He leaned over to kiss Meena on the top of her head. "The baby was fussy last night," Meena replied. She didn't really feel the need to go into the real reason why she spent the night downstairs, especially if it would just start another argument. 

"You should have gotten me up, sweetheart," Drew replied. "I would have gladly gone." 

"Well then, I guess I'll know for next time," Meena replied as she got up from the sofa. 

"Will you get breakfast started? I'm going to go up and check on Nigel...."

"Actually, he's fine and wide awake now."

Meena looked past Drew to the stairs, where Drew's newly discovered relative stood with the baby. Meena was certain everyone could hear the beating of her heart in her chest. It took every ounce of strength for her not to loose her composure and thus betray her fear and concern. "I took the liberty of looking in on our little tyke. He was awake and happily cooing away. He seemed to want to join the party, so.... I hope you don't mind indulging a doting uncle."

Meena amazed herself by walking calmly over to Drew's uncle, and taking her son in her arms. 

"No, not at all," she replied steadily. "It must be about time for a diaper change for him; let me take him for a moment..." 

"I can do that, honey," Drew replied, but Meena cut him off. "I'd really rather you start breakfast instead, Drew. I know I could use a cup of coffee, and I'm sure our guest wouldn't mind a bite to eat." 

"Actually," Drew's uncle began, "I was hoping I could take you out for breakfast. I know I've caused a bit of a disruption and, well.... I'd like to thank you in some small way for your hospitality." Drew spoke for both of them before Meena had a chance to answer for herself. "It's no trouble at all, Uncle Alex, but let us take you out." 

"Don't you have to go to work this morning?" Meena asked. "I'll call and take the day off," Drew replied. "I'm allowed. Besides," he continued, "what good is it to be the boss's son if it can't get you a day off once in a while?"

******************************************************************************

Mulder sped along the highway in an effort to make up for lost time; Scully had at least an hour and a half head start on him. He thought in some small corner of his psyche that if he made a Herculean effort he could reverse time, that he could force fate to give him back the time he had lost. But he knew that was impossible. 

Mulder tried to reach Scully on her cell phone as he drove, ignoring the law that forbade anyone to use their cell phone while driving. He was fully prepared to explain it was an emergency should he be pulled over. 

And it was.

"Come on, Scully - pick up!" Mulder pleaded as the phone rang. The ringing stopped for a moment, and Mulder thought he had finally gotten through to his wife. "Scully..." he began. "The cellular customer you are trying to reach isn't available," the mechanical voice replied. "Please press or say `one' to leave a message, or please try your call again later." 

"One," Mulder replied impatiently. "Scully," he began when he finally got through....

It was at that moment that his tire blew.

"Damnit!" Mulder cursed as he tried to steady the car. It took both hands for him to bring the car to a stop, and he was forced to drop the cell phone on the floor. It slid between the seat, just out of Mulder's line of vision, and remained on when Mulder got out of the car.

His connection to Scully's cell phone did not break until after he got out of the car, and began to change the flat tire. 

******************************************************************************

Geoffrey opened the door to find the courier from Overseas Parcel and Delivery standing on the doorstep. "Can I help you?" he asked. "Uh, yeah," the courier replied. "Got a package here for a `Mul...' He stopped a moment, unable to read the shipping manifest. "Cripes!" he exclaimed. "You'd think they'd learn how to write a bloody shipping label - can't make this out. Think you could have a go at it?" 

Geoffrey took a look at the package. "It seems the last letters on the name are washed out; it appears," he said as he looked at the tea stain on the courier's uniform shirt, "that someone spilled something on it." 

"Well, it weren't me, if that's what you're thinking," the courier shot back. "I got it that way from the dispatcher. Wait; maybe the other package has it on it - you got two for this address..." 

"Well, that won't do you much good, because I can't accept either of them," Geoffrey replied. "All packages addressed to this address must go to the field office for Scotland Yard first for clearance." 

"You mean I've got to go to bloody Scotland Yard first?!" the courier exclaimed. "I'm sorry mate; took me long enough to get here as it is. You're not the only delivery I got, you know..." 

"Your office, as does every other courier service knows that any packages delivered to high ranking Yard officials must be inspected by the Yard first. Now, I'm sorry, but you'll have to go through the proper channels."

Geoffrey shut the door before he could hear the courier use his choicest swear words to curse him and the ground on which he walked. The courier walked back to his truck in a huff, and whipped out his electronic tracking clipboard. He clicked "yes" under "package refused" for both packages.

He left Brittlegate, taking both vials of the antidote for Meena with him.

********************************************************************************

Meena fumed as she sat next to Drew in the car. Unbeknownst to her, after he called into to work to tell them he would not be in, he called the babysitter and asked her to come over. The sitter was waiting when she brought the baby back downstairs from his diaper change, and after she had taken a quick shower. 

"I think it will do us good to spend some time with Uncle Alex without the baby," he replied before Meena could question him. "Please let's not have a rowe in front of the sitter," Drew whispered as he stood next to her. 

"Yes, of course," Meena replied coolly. "We wouldn't want that. And of course we wouldn't want any unwelcome distractions while we get to know and hear all about Uncle Alex. I, for one, will be completely and utterly enthralled..."

It was ten o'clock when they reached Notting Hill. Just as they pulled into the center of town, Drew's cell phone began to ring. He pulled the car over into a car park and answered the phone. "Drew here," he answered, and suddenly a frown crossed over his face. "But isn't this something that can be handled by...? Oh, very well. I'm on my way." 

"What is it?" Meena asked. "The office. It seems as though there's some type of crisis that only I can handle, and I need to go in for a bit." 

"That's too bad," Drew's uncle began. "Well, I suppose we should head over there then, and I'll take the car," Meena replied. "Actually, I was thinking I'd drop you and Uncle Alex off here, and I'd meet you when I was done." Drew answered. "No sense in the two of you not having a good time on my account."

Meena was thoroughly convinced that the man who sat next to her had taken complete leave of his senses.

"Drew," Meena began, but was interrupted by the blaring of a car horn. "Sweetheart, I'm blocking the entrance to the car park. I promise - I'll pick you and Uncle Alex up as soon as I'm finished." The horn began again. "Please darling..." Drew's Uncle Alex opened the car door. "We should probably get out of the car before the driver behind us pulls us out by force."

Meena got out of the car, barely resisting the impulse to angrily slam the car door behind her.


	37. The Bad Penny

He decided as she watched his sleeping grandchild that things would be different.

Krycek allowed himself a moment's indulgence, discovering that if he concentrated very hard and maybe even squinted a little, he could have the moment he never had a quarter of a century ago. He could stand in front of his own son's crib, and envision what the future would be like for him.

Just as his own father must have done at his crib.

"Nigel," he thought. Perhaps it wasn't so bad that things were the way they were, and that he was being raised in Britain. "Nigel" was definitely a name that would have gotten him into many fights and gotten him many a bruised knuckle or scraped knee in his neighborhood.

His parents had settled with him in Bensonhurst, New York, from Russia at the height of the Cold War, when the Bay of Pigs was still fresh in America's minds. His mother was eight months pregnant with him. His father had sold everything they had of value to obtain entrance into the United States for himself and his family, citing political asylum from Khrushchev and the Communist regime. They landed with a family in what was known as "Little Russia" with one suitcase each and a small stipend from the United States government. His father, the literature professor and his mother, a ballerina with the Soviet ballet. Soon after their arrival, they found a small apartment - his father, the ex-literature professor, his mother, the ex-ballerina whose once graceful back swayed and stooped under the weight of concern. She gave birth to their son, their golden boy. Their hope for the future.

Their life was hard, and young Alexei could see that. But there were times, there were nights, when the hardship of their lives and the frailty of their existence was brightened by songs, by poetry, by dancing. He could remember his father, now a janitor and handyman to make ends meet, would read "The Brothers Karamazov" aloud, or quote Dotstoyevsky, and his mother would glide on air to "Swan Lake" or "Sleeping Beauty." 

They had wanted so much for their son, and dreamed for him as they watched their own dreams disappear.

"Alex," as his newly assimilated parents insisted, was a bright boy who was always at the head of his class. He was well liked among his peers, teachers doted on him, and there wasn't a girl who didn't bring a treat for him from home or slip him notes in the hall. "He is a bright boy," a principal once said as he prepared to enter High School. "He should have a bright future. Have you considered entering him in the Brightman School in Manhattan?"

Alex passed the entrance examine with flying colors, and was at the top of his Freshman class when he entered. There was never any question that his grades were more than adequate to secure his scholarship renewal each term. But his mother's health was grim, and the expenses that were not covered by scholarship steep. He wanted to stop, to go to public school, but each time he mentioned it, it upset his parents so that he dropped the discussion. "We will make a way," his parents would protest. "We always have."

Alex was at school at a dance his Sophomore year when he decided to go into the hallway with a few

friends to get some air. As they rounded the corner, the saw the new night janitor tending his rounds. Alex thought he recognized the figure in the hallway, but wasn't sure until they drew closer for a better look. One of his classmates was smoking, and made it a point to flick his cigarette butt on the newly mopped floor. When his date chastised him for it, he replied, "so? He should be thankful - gives him something to do. Job security." 

"Hey, Krycek," one of the group laughed, "he has the same last name as you! You didn't tell me your father was a mop jockey!"

Krycek looked into his father's eyes. Before he could speak, his father pleaded with him in his native tongue. "Do not embarrass me by admitting that you are my son," he said.

Krycek looked at his father. "You'd think they'd bother to at least learn the language if they're going to freeload off of Americans," he said.

Although they never spoke of that day, Krycek never forgot it. He excelled at his classes, became the class president, was every student's model of perfection and achievement. The day he was accepted into Columbia University, he went to his mother's grave. "I will not disappoint you, mother," he said in her native tongue.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation was interested in people like him - at the top of their class and at the top of their game. What better success story than to recruit the son of refugees from the old Soviet Union? He went to Quantico, excelling at all his studies, prepared and ready to serve his country with honor. His first assignment in the FBI was with Fox Mulder, on an obscure project known as the X-Files. "No matter," he thought. "Once I'm there, it won't be obscure for long. All I have to do is meet the right people, make the right connections." And meet people he did. And make connections, he did. 

But something had gone terribly, terribly wrong, and before he could extract himself from the web of lies and deceit, it was too late.

He received a phone call one day from someone from the old neighborhood. His father had died, and they called to let him know about the funeral arrangements. He remembered the time in the hallway at school, and what his father had said to him; he remembered it in light of all that had transpired since he joined the bureau, and since his allegiance with CGB Spender and the syndicate.

"Do not embarrass me by admitting that you are my son."

Krycek never returned the phone call, and never attended the funeral.

And so he stood now, looking at his sleeping grandchild, thinking about all that had gone on in his life up to that moment. He had especially thought hard in recent hours, listening as the house settled while its occupants slept or tried to sleep. He had his orders; Cancer Man's son, second in the long line of evil, had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to convince Mulder's daughter to finish her course of treatment with the doctor he had selected. He was to take her to the new doctor's offices himself in order to ensure that she finished the treatment, or else suffer the consequences. Mulder's daughter. Mulder and Dana Scully's only child, and her fate rested in his hands. Oh, the irony!

The sounds from the nursery drew him out of bed, and down the hall to look at his sleeping grandchild. There was definitely signs of his son in his grandchild's face, mixed in with characteristics of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, but he saw something else. 

He saw Marita's face and, more importantly, what she wished for their son. It was what every parent wished for their child - what his parents wished, what his immigrant parents wished, what Mulder and Scully undoubtedly wished for now.

Hope. Hope for the future.

And he decided then and there that things would be different, that the plan would be different, and that after all these years, he wouldn't make his own father ashamed that he was his son.

****************************************************************************

"We should probably get out of the car before the driver behind us pulls us out by force," Krycek said as he exited the car. As much as she tried to disguise it, Krycek couldn't help but notice the defiance in Meena's eyes. "She's every bit Scully's daughter," Krycek thought to himself as Drew pulled away.

Meena and Krycek made their way down the sidewalk, and Krycek made small talk in an effort to kill time. "I'm sure Drew gets called away a lot on pressing calls," he said. Meena nodded stubbornly, refusing to answer yes or no to his inquiry. "Has to be hard on a young marriage," Krycek continued. "How long have you two been together?" 

"Quite a while," Meena coolly replied. 

A strange look washed over her face, as if she was trying to calculate the seconds, hours and days she and Drew had been husband and wife. Meena drew her hand up to her temple, as if to massage away a kink in her brow. "Are you alright?" Krycek asked....

....Krycek and Meena never noticed the white van across the street, nor could they see the person recording their conversation in the van's interior...

Meena rubbed her head again. "I suppose it's time to get some food. It is ten-thirty. A spot of breakfast might be good." 

Krycek and Meena passed a store window when Kryek stopped. "Is it possible for you to indulge a doting relative for just one moment? I think I see something I know your son would love, and I'd like to get it for him - provided, of course, that Mommie doesn't object."

"As you wish," Meena replied. Krycek opened the door for Meena, and she went inside.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, Krycek felt a sharp pain that almost knocked him to the ground.

****************************************************************************

At ten thirty, Scully found herself across the street from the bookstore where she had last seen her daughter and her grandson. For the first time since her arrival, she stopped. She took the time to hope against all hope that she and the fates could come to a compromise; she hoped against all hope that fate would be kind and let her see them one more time. What she saw, however, was not what she had expected at all.

Krycek, going into a store with her daughter. 

As she watched, she saw him open the door for her daughter, and then a moment later almost double over in pain. Scully started across the street to confront Krycek when he looked up and saw her.

Before Scully could react, Krycek bolted. In the next instant, Scully took off after him like a bloodhound after a rabbit.

*******************************************************************************

As soon as Meena crossed the threshold into the store, Krycek felt a sharp pain that almost knocked him to the ground. He doubled over in pain, and knew exactly where the pain came from. They were being watched; he was being watched, and this was to let him know that Cancer Man's son, Jeffrey Spender, knew he wasn't behaving as instructed. As he forced himself to stand upright, he looked across the street and saw someone he hadn't seen in years. Fox Mulder's wife, Agent Dana Scully.

She opened her mouth to call out his name, but before she could react, Krycek bolted. He half ran, half stumbled down the street, unable to run much faster because of the searing pain that coursed through his body. She was able to catch up with him next to an alley, shoving him inside the alleyway and pinning him to the wall.

"What are you doing with my daughter?" Scully hissed as she brought her head next to Krycek's ear. When he didn't answer her, she tightened her grip on his arm, jerking it hard enough to cause pain to his joints. "What are you doing with my daughter, you son of a Bitch?!" she demanded. 

"Careful Scully," Krycek replied. "That happens to be my good arm." 

"Not for long if you don't give me an answer," Scully replied. "Or would you rather I rip it off and beat an answer out of you with it?" 

"Nice way to talk to someone who's trying to save your daughter - but of course I don't expect you to believe that," Krycek replied. 

"_You_ actually do something good for someone else?" replied Scully. "Not likely..."

She flipped Krycek around, pinning him against the wall. "So tell me, Mrs. Mulder, I guess your secret agent man likes it rough like this, but you forget I'm not your husband..." Scully silenced him with a swift, hard punch in the gut. "Thank God for small favors," she replied. 

"We are wasting time, Agent. The fact remains that I am the only connection to your daughter right now, so I suggest you stop wasting time and trust me." 

"Why should I?" Scully shot back. 

"Because you have no other choice, you know it."

Scully stopped for a moment. She knew he was right; much as she hated to admit it, he was right.

"Allright, Rat-Boy," she said as she released him. "Let's do it. But just remember - just because I can't legally carry a gun in Great Britain doesn't mean I'm not. Nor does it mean I can't think of at least five hundred other ways to kill you."

Krycek and Scully left the alleyway, and walked back towards the bookstore. As they approached, they saw Meena exit the store. She looked in the opposite direction, then turned and looked straight at them. Scully didn't like the look on her face when she saw her daughter look at Krycek; it was almost as if she sensed danger, and was trying to escape when he thwarted her attempts. 

Scully watched that expression change on Meena's face when she saw her. It was definitely a sense of relief she saw when Meena looked at her. "So, we meet again!" Meena exclaimed. "How wonderful. We were about to get some breakfast - and I insist that you join us."

"I wouldn't dream of missing it," Scully replied.

*****************************************************************************

The trio made their way around the corner to Mrs. Micawber's Tea and Curiosity Shop, a little tea shop that sold knick-knacks and brick-a-brack near her favorite bookstore. "I have to say that I'm starving," Meena remarked as they walked. It was almost as if she were trying to fill the air with idle chit-chat in an attempt to distract her companions.

It was something Meena did when she was nervous about something, really nervous, and Scully knew that. She knew her daughter all too well.

"I'm sorry," Meena replied as they entered the tea shop. "I should introduce my husband's Uncle to you..." 

"Uncle?" thought Scully as she put on her best poker face in order to disguise her thoughts. 

"Actually, we know each other," Krycek said. Meena looked puzzled, almost disappointed in fact. "I should be conducting the introductions,' Krycek continued. "Allow me to introduce..." 

"Margaret Anderson," Scully replied hastily. When Scully saw the familiar discomfort cross her daughter's face, she silently cursed herself. She knew she couldn't use her own name, not yet, but she couldn't think of anything else in such a short span of time. "Very nice to finally put a name to the face," Meena said as they sat down. "How do you know...?" 

"We're actually acquaintances," she replied. "It's been a number of years since we've seen each other. Too many to count," Scully said as she looked at Krycek. "Way too many," he replied.

Meena was still rubbing her temple after the waitress took their orders. "You're still having those headaches, I see," Scully replied. "Actually, I'm hoping I can enlist your help with that, Margaret," Krycek replied. "I have to confess, Meena, that my intentions this morning were not entirely honorable. I did hope to convince you to continue your treatments with the new doctor..." 

"I really don't think..." Meena began, but Krycek cut her off. "Your father-in-law only has your best interest at heart," Krycek continued. Scully's mind raced in confusion. If Krycek's son was married to Meena, that would make him the father-in-law, yet he acted as if he were not. What was the involvement? Who was he talking about....?

In a flash, it all became clear.

Spender. He was talking about Spender.

"If I might interject here," Scully replied, "if Meena doesn't feel comfortable going to another doctor, then I feel that's something that should be taken into consideration." 

"Yes," Krycek continued, "you do have a point, however..."

All of a sudden, Krycek winced in pain. As he looked around, he saw someone out of the corner of his eye. Watching him. He knew who it was.

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me for a minute," Krycek said. "Are you alright?" Scully asked. "I need to get some fresh air for a minute," Krycek replied. "I just got a little lightheaded. Guess we waited too long for breakfast. I'll just be a minute." 

Scully and Meena watched as Krycek left and went outside. The waitress delivered the tea, effectively blocking their view of the door.

They never saw the man who had been watching them follow Krycek outside.

Meena waited until the waitress left before she spoke. "Why don't I pour," Scully asked as she reached for the teapot. Meena stopped her by placing her hand on top of Scully's, but the look of fear would have been enough to stop Scully in her tracks. 

"I know we don't know each other very well, Margaret," Meena began. The dull, throbbing pain in her head came back and Scully could see it, but Meena ignored it. "We've just been introduced, but you're the only person I can turn to right now. Especially now that I know you know something about the man who was just at our table."

Scully took Meena's hand, her daughter's hand, and held it tightly. "I will do anything I can to help you," Scully replied. "Don't be afraid." 

"But I am," Meena replied. "Dreadfully afraid. This man has come into my home, he has held my son, he has passed himself off as a family member. But I don't believe it. I don't trust it, and I don't trust him. My gut says not to trust him."

Meena looked into Scully's eyes, and Scully's heart broke when she saw the fear in them. Scully knew what she had to say.

"Your gut's right, Meena. You shouldn't trust him. You shouldn't trust him at all."


	38. Impact

Scully reached into her jacket for money to pay the bill as she and Meena hatched an escape plan. 

"My son," Meena replied. "I have to get my son. He's at home with the sitter, and I don't have a car..." 

"I have one here," Scully replied. "I'm parked a couple of blocks away. We'll get my car, we'll get your son, and we'll take it from there. Meena.." 

Scully reached for her daughter's hand, giving it a firm and comforting squeeze. "I want you to listen to me. It will be alright. You will be alright. I don't want you to worry."

Scully decided they should exit through the rear of the tea shop since Krycek was still out front. She would go first, then Meena was to follow her five minutes later. They would make their way behind the shop and down the network of alleyways to the car, thus effectively escaping Krycek. "It will be alright," Scully said as she stood up.

She went through the back of the store, and stepped into the alleyway.

Scully pulled out her cell phone the moment she left the store. She dialed Mulder's number as she made her way carefully down the alley, inspecting it to make sure she was alone. Mulder never picked up, instead, she got his voice mail after a number of rings. "The cellular party you are trying to reach is busy. Please press or say `one' to leave a message." Scully impatiently pressed one to leave a message, and waited for the tone. "Mulder, it's me," Scully said when she finally got through. "I'm behind a tea shop called Mrs. Micawber's on Fitzharold street in Notting Hill. I have Meena, and we're running from Krycek. We're going back to the car. Mulder, listen carefully, do not do anything until you hear from me. I will call you thirty minutes after you get this message...

"I love you, Mulder. We'll be home soon."

Scully stopped, hanging up the phone when she heard the door open, expecting it to be Meena. It wasn't. 

She felt a sharp and sudden blow to the back of the head, and everything went dark. 

********************************************************************************

It took Mulder twenty minutes to change the flat and get back on the road. He looked at his watch; it was fifteen minutes till noon. The panic sat in the faster he drove towards Notting Hill. Why hadn't he heard from Scully? He kicked himself for not being with her, he kicked himself for not being there to protect her. Where was she?! 

Mulder had another sudden thought. Where was his phone?!

He was about five minutes away from Notting Hill when he ran into a small traffic jam. He took that opportunity to get out of the car, and feel around on the floorboards for his cell phone. He found it wedged between the parking brake and the driver's seat, on. Mulder angrily shut the phone off and turned it back on when he got in the car, plugging it in the battery adaptor to recharge. A message flashed across the cell phone's screen.

"One Missed Call; One New Message," it flashed.

Mulder made it into Notting Hill, and pulled into the first available car park he found. He shut the motor off, and dialed his voice mail. "First new message, eleven-fifteen a.m." the cell voice droned. In the next instant, he heard the voice he was waiting for - Scully's.

"Mulder, it's me...."

Mulder listened to the message intently, and looked at his watch at the end of it. It was straight-up Noon. He saved the message and checked to see if he had received any new ones while he was on the phone. He hadn't.

The familiar pang of worry began to throb in the pit of Mulder's stomach.

"How far am I from Fitzharold street?" Mulder asked the attendant as he paid his fee. 

"About five blocks in that direction, sir," the attendant replied. "You might want to get a cab, sir - it's quite a ways..." 

"I've got long legs," Mulder replied as he set off.

Mulder ran the five blocks to Fitzharold street, his heart racing all the while. Scully was in trouble. Their daughter was in trouble. And he prayed to God and to any saving grace he might have left that he could get to them in time.

He saw the sign for Fitzharold street on the opposite side of the traffic circle or "roundabout" as they were called by British drivers. As he waited for a break in the traffic so that he could cross, he saw her.

His daughter Meena was on the opposite side of the street, pacing back and forth.

"Meena!" Mulder shouted in an effort to get her attention. She didn't hear him the first time, so he called again. "Meena!!" Mulder shouted even louder. She stopped, but he realized it wasn't the sound of his voice that had made her stop pacing the pavement.

A Green Volvo recklessly sped around the roundabout, almost hitting pedestrians and other cars that got in its way. It was going around the full circle, and Mulder saw what Meena had seen when the car had passed her.

Scully, sitting at the steering wheel, next to Krycek. A man sat in the back who looked like a younger version of his nemesis. Krycek's son. It also looked like there was a baby in the car seat next to him. "Scully!!!" Mulder cried as the car raced past.

It was then that he noticed Meena looking at him. She began to run.

*****************************************************************************

Meena stalled as long as she could before she went into the alleyway. She sipped some tea, and took a small nibble at her scone, but she was too nervous to eat. She knew that it was up to her to protect Nigel, Drew was so snowed and hoodwinked by this character that she knew she couldn't depend on his support. She would do anything she needed to protect her son, even if it meant she had to do it alone.

But now she had an ally, and she was thankful for it.

Something told her that she could trust this woman, that she was meant to trust this woman. It was if fate had delivered her for their protection. A guardian angel, the mother she wished she had. She knew that she could believe this woman, and that she could trust her.

Meena went into the alleyway, looking for the woman. When she wasn't there, she figured she had decided to go and get the car. "She'll be back," Meena thought. "She will." 

Meena's confidence in her newfound savior began to wane after thirty minutes. Her savior was no where to be found.

Meena took a chance and went down the alleyway to the front of the building. She paced the block in front of the bookstore, even going in at one time so as not to look too conspicuous. She half hoped that her savior was waiting for her inside, that she would tell her that she had thought of another plan. But she wasn't there. Crestfallen, Meena went back outside. She stood outside of the store, and looked at her watch. Twelve -fifteen. An hour ago, she had been given the hope of safety and rescue for herself and her young son. How that had all changed in the span of sixty short minutes. 

Meena began to pace, almost in a panic. She expected Drew would be coming for her soon, and she had no idea when or where his "Uncle Alex" would pop up. She didn't have much time....

"Meena!!!"

She looked up in the direction of the sound, but wasn't able to tell from whence it came. Just then, a Green Volvo recklessly sped around the roundabout, almost hitting pedestrians and other cars that got in its way. It was going around the full circle, and when the car had passed her, she couldn't believe her eyes. It was her Green Volvo - Margaret was in the driver's seat, the man she had told her not to trust was sitting beside her. In the back seat was Drew and..... 

"Oh my God," she thought. "My baby..."

Her brain screamed the words for her that she couldn't voice. "Margaret!" The woman's name echoed in her head over and over and over until she heard another one....

"Scully!!!"

She looked up, and this time was able to see who screamed the name. It was the man who had accosted her at Harrods. And he was looking right at her.

She began to run; her head pounding so hard that she didn't know where she was running. The sharp, stabbing pain was a full blown headache now, almost blinding in intensity. And there were voices, loud, incessant voices that rang through her head:

"Margaret-Margaret-ma-ma-ma-Margaret-Scu-scu-scu-Scully-Margaret-ma-ma-Scully-Margaret-Scully-Grandmother-Scully-Mother-Ma-Ma-Ma-Ma-Mom-Mother-Mother-ScullyScullyScully-Scully-Ma-Ma-Ma..."

A bright, white light shot through Meena's brain.

"MOM!!!!"

Mulder heard his daughter scream for his wife across the street. Before he could dodge the traffic to get to her, the Green Volvo sped by them both once more. After it passed Meena, the car shot out of its orbit, and careened headlong towards its target.

Both Mulder and Meena watched in horror, on opposite sides of the street, as the car crashed head on into a brick wall. Meena stood stock-still and rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak. Just as Mulder began to run to the car, it happened.

The car exploded, knocking him, Meena and everyone around them to the ground, and shattering windows in all the store fronts near the crash.


	39. Next of Kin

Phoebe found him in the emergency ward at Saint George's Episcopal Hospital. He sat on the gurney in one of the examination bays, the picture of calm in an otherwise stormy environment. Doctors rushed to and fro caring for the injured from the blast. It was like something out of a disaster movie, but it wasn't. This was real.

Phoebe hated this. She hated this part of her job, bearing bad news to people. She hated it now, having to bear bad news to Mulder and, if possible, help him to shoulder the burden.

Mulder turned to face her when she entered the examination bay. He had a butterfly bandage above his right eye to close the gash in his forehead, and a thin layer of Nu-Skin on the brush burns that covered his face. His shirt was ripped and smudged, his forearms scraped from when he hit the ground. He had been through so much, but remained undaunted. Phoebe could see that the second he opened his mouth.

"Good, Phoebe; I'm glad you're here. I want you to fill me in on the investigation - I've got several theories on Scully and her disappearance..." 

"Mulder," Phoebe began, but he didn't hear her, or refused to hear her, making it all the more difficult to say what had to be said. "It's obvious that Scully was being held by Krycek - probably at gunpoint - at another location." Mulder continued. "They were so clever; they thought they were so clever by setting up a decoy - that's all it was, Phoebe. The car was a decoy. The people in it may have looked like Scully and Krycek..."

Krycek. The mention of his name made Phoebe wince. She knew this man, the man who prevented her from helping Mulder and Scully in the first place.

And now he was dead, and Mulder's wife along with him.

"Mulder, I have to tell you something," Phoebe began, but Mulder cut her off. "Don't say it, Phoebe," he began, but she would not be deterred. 

"Mulder, Scully is..." 

"Don't say it; don't say it; don't say it, Phoebe because it is NOT true! We do not know that it is true, Phoebe..." 

"MULDER YOUR WIFE IS DEAD!" Phoebe's voice rose over Mulder's protests, but Mulder angrily shouted back. 

"NO! Not Dead! My wife is NOT dead! I would know it. I would know it in here," Mulder insisted, pointing at his heart. "And what's in here tells me that she is NOT dead and that she IS alive, and nothing you can say or do will change that!"

Phoebe stood silently before Mulder, hesitating before she spoke. She reached into the pocket of her jacket, and pulled out an evidence bag. "One of my investigators found this about a mile from the crash site. I think.... I think you should take a look at this."

Mulder paused before he took the evidence from Phoebe. He hesitated a moment, then reached inside the plastic bag. He pulled out Scully's identification wallet, the one that held her badge and credentials. The front cover was ripped from the blast, but the ID badge inside somehow remained intact. He remembered the picture well, taken days after they had re-opened the X-Files in order to search for their daughter. She wasn't crazy about the picture, but he was.

"It's the most beautiful photo of you yet, Scully," he had said.

As he held the ID wallet in his hand, he noticed there was a gap, as though something had been slipped behind the photo. He reached in, and pulled out the object. 

It was Scully's wedding band. He looked inside for the inscription. "You are my constant, my touchstone," it said. It was engraved with that inscription to compliment the one in his wedding band...

"....And you are mine."

"I'm sorry, Mulder," Phoebe said quietly. "There was no way anybody could have survived that crash. You were there, Mulder, you saw it. I will do my level best to find out who's behind this, Mulder. I've got my best personnel working on this case..."

"Where's Scully's cross?" Mulder asked quietly. "Did you find her cross?" "I'm afraid we haven't yet, Mulder." Phoebe replied. "And, judging by what I remember of it, it was so delicate and so fragile that it most likely melted in the blast.."

Mulder sat looking at his late wife's effects, fingering her wedding band and turning it over and over in his hand. He suddenly looked up and directly at Phoebe. "Meena; where's Meena?" 

"The young woman from Harrods's ? It's alright, Mulder - she's here." 

"I'd like to see her," Mulder began. "I don't think..." Phoebe replied, but Mulder stopped her. "Don't fight me on this, Phoebe," he said. 

Phoebe paused before she spoke, looking at the man in front of her. And she relented.

"Her attending physician was a friend of my late husband's," Phoebe finally said. "I'll see what I can do." 

After about twenty minutes, Phoebe came back for Mulder. "I'm going to take you to her room," she said. 

"Thank you, but if you don't mind, I'd rather do this alone." 

"Alright, Mulder. As you wish," Phoebe said quietly. "She's in the intensive care ward, room 1013. Down the hall, and to your left."

It was the longest walk Mulder ever had to make.

He reached Meena's room in intensive care, standing just outside. He peered at her through the glass, seeing the machines and monitors hooked up to his baby girl. She looked so fragile, so helpless, so alone. 

"Mister Mulder?"

Mulder turned around to face the attending physician on Meena's case. "Mister Mulder, I'm Dr. Fairchild; I'm the attending physician. Chief Inspector Montague said that you were a part of this investigation, and that I was to give you complete and total access. Please rest assured that I will. Is there anything I can answer for you?" 

"How is she?" Mulder asked quietly. 

"Well, she has a mild concussion, but that's not the thing that concerns me the most." Mulder looked at Dr. Fairchild, pressing him by his gaze for an answer.

"The young lady is in a catatonic state," he replied. "She is completely unresponsive. And at this point, I can't tell whether her catatonia is reversible or not. There is a distinct possibility, given with the trauma of witnessing the car crash and resulting explosion, that her catatonic state may not be reversible. I just don't know."

"Only time will tell, Mister Mulder." 

Mulder walked into the room, sliding the glass door shut behind him. The door provided an instant buffer between them and the outside ward, shutting out all outside noise. The only noises that enveloped them now was the whirring hum and beeps of the monitors and the machines, and the loud thumping in Mulder's chest.

Her stare was fixed and unmoveable; her limp limbs flanked her body on either side. She was entirely motionless, save for the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in... and out. Mulder could see the bruises on her face, the cuts and scrapes on her arms. He wondered if she was in pain, wondered, but until he could reach her, if he could reach her, he would never know.

And that fact was slowly killing him inside.

He walked over to her bedside, picking up the patient PDA that sat on the night stand. He stared blankly at it. He couldn't read it, not really. Not the way Scully would be able to read and analyze the data that flashed on its screen. He was, however, able to understand six words in his daughter's chart.

"Status: Serious and in Critical Condition."

Mulder had read enough.

He pulled the chair that was next to Meena's nightstand next to her bed, and sat down. He smoothed a hair out of his daughter's face, hoping that this guesture, however small, would trigger a response. It didn't. He carefully reached for her hand and brought it to his face, cupping it against his cheek. He brought it away and kissed the back of it, as if by the touch of his lips he could ease the discomfort of the IV and of their souls. Mulder brought Meena's hand back down to the bed and rested it in his hand, cradling it and stroking it with his other free hand.

"Meena," he said softly. "I'm afraid that what I'm about to say isn't intirely altruistic. It's..... It's actually quite selfish really. And I see now that my selfishness, my own single-mindedness, my constant windmill-tilting has harmed those that I love. Has taken away those that are most dear to me. But why should I change now, right?" 

Meena remained unresponsive; her breathing, slow and steady, sang in macabre symphony with the mechanical sounds in the room.

"Meena...." Mulder continued, his voice thick with sorrow and on the verge of tears. "Sweetie, you have to get well. You have to come back. You see.... Sweetheart, you're all that I have left now; all that I have left of your mother." Despite his best efforts, the tears began to fall silently down his face. "You are her legacy, Meena. You are the love she had for you, the desire she had for you and your happiness, manifest in your smile, your courage, your bravery, your existence.... You are my reminder that I was once loved by a very, very special woman."

"Sweetheart, I know that you'll come back. Please. I need to know I have another chance."

Mulder sat silently at his daughter's bedside and held her hand as the tears continued to flow.

*******************************************************************************

The last thing Meena remembered was the brilliant, blinding light; before that, she remembered seeing her mother's face. She didn't remember much else after that.

She found herself in a bright room, a white room, devoid of sound and substance. It was as though she were floating in a white void, white space. She didn't know where she was, or who she was really, for that matter....

"Hello."

All of a sudden, she faced a young girl. She couldn't have been more than sixteen. She was dressed in a white ballgown and wore white gloves like a fairy princess. "I've seen her before," she thought, "but where?"

"Hello," the young girl said again. "Hello," Meena replied. "Do I know you?" 

"I am you," the girl replied. "We've known each other for a long time - we've just lost each other for a while, that's all." 

Meena looked around the vast void, trying to place where she was. "Am I... Am I dead?" Meena asked. The young girl shook her head. "No, just in a safe place. Until you can find your way back." 

"Back where?" Meena asked. 

"Home," the young girl replied. "I've been waiting here to show you the way back home. And so have all these people."

Meena looked around the void, which was suddenly filled with people. Some she recognized, some she did not. "Don't worry, Meena," the young girl said, "You know who these people are, you just need to find them again, and you will. I'll help you."

Suddenly, Meena felt an overwhelming sense of calm. The scene didn't frighten her as it had before. And the headaches.... The headaches were gone.

Meena could look through this time, this space, and see the outside world. It was as though she were having an out-of-body experience, watching herself from afar. She saw a woman who looked just like her in a bed; a man with a boyish face in spite of his gray hair holding her hand, stroking it.

"Is that me?" she thought. The young girl answered her question. "Yes, Meena. If you want to know what happen, you can. When you're ready."

Meena and her younger self looked at the scene. "He looks so sad," Meena said. "Because he loves you so much," the young girl replied. "I wish I knew who he was," Meena said. "I know I should, but..." 

"You will in time," the young girl said. "When you're ready."

Meena reached out her hand, as if she could touch what was in front of her.

*****************************************************************************

"Mister Mulder..."

Dr. Fairchild had opened the glass door, and stuck his head inside. Mulder didn't want to leave, but he knew he had no choice. He leaned over, kissed his daughter tenderly on the forehead, and left.

Mulder and Dr. Fairchild went outside into the hallway to discuss Meena's case. When Mulder left, Meena closed her hand, as though she were trying to grasp something. 

After a moment, she opened it again.

******************************************************************************

Mulder's day had been cursed with a multitude of misery, and he knew the worse wasn't over. He left intensive care and trod the hall with heavy footsteps until he came across Phoebe. He asked her his question and she nodded. She led him down the hallway to an office, and took him inside. It was sparse, almost spartan, with only a desk, a chair and a phone. Phoebe left him, shutting the door behind her.

Mulder stared at the phone for what seemed to be an eternity. He picked it up several times, but let it fall back in the cradle. He didn't want to make this call, but the day's events forced him into it. Mulder looked at his watch. Three p.m. He knew it would be nine in the morning there.

He realized he couldn't remember the phone number as he placed the receiver to his ear. Just before the line went dead, he dialed. "International operator, may I help you?" the voice said. 

"Bill Scully, Jr., please. Arlington, Virginia - USA," Mulder answered.

Bill's son, Matthew, answered the phone. Mulder had forgotten that Matt would stop by his dad's house sometimes on the way to work for a quick cup of coffee. Mulder had always thought Matt was a good son and that they had a good relationship, even if his father was a bit too hard with him. Matt was an easy person to speak to, and Mulder was secretely glad he answered the phone.

"Matt, it's your uncle, Fox Mulder. Is your dad in?"

Matt could tell something was wrong by the tone of Mulder's voice. As he was on the phone with his uncle, his father was watching the news bulletin that had interrupted his morning talk show.

"London's trendy Notting Hill was rocked by an explosion that killed four, and injured at least a half a dozen people a few hours ago. Sources say that at least two Americans were killed in the blast, caused when a car drove head on into a brick building...."

When Matt handed Bill the phone, he knew something was wrong. The moment he heard Mulder's voice, he began to scream. He errupted like Mount Vesuvious, curses and vitriol spewing like hot, molten lava on Mulder's tortured soul. Mulder said nothing throughout Bill's tirade of verbal abuse. Bill's final words to Mulder were, "my one fervent wish is that it had been you in that car; my one fervent wish is that you were dead instead of my sister!" Mulder finally spoke, saying the only words he spoke during the whole conversation.

"I wish it had been me too, Bill. I wish to God it had been me."


	40. The Weight Of Atlas

For the first time since his arrival in Britain, Mulder looked old. The weight of over sixty years of existence hung on his shoulder like a dark shroud. Its weight was heavy, and he bore it on his shoulders much like Atlas bore the weight of the world.

When Phoebe saw him, it took every ounce of strength to suppress her reaction.

Phoebe beckoned the young inspector to come with her. He followed her, picking up a damp raincoat and carrying his soaked umbrella by his side. "Mulder, this is inspector Barclay. He is to provide you with safe and expedient conduct back to Brittlegate Manor," Phoebe said. "And Mulder," she continued, "it's my turn now to insist that you don't fight me on this." 

"Don't worry, Phoebe - I've lost the strength," he replied. "If you'll follow me, sir," the young man replied, indicating with an outstretched arm that Mulder should proceed.

Phoebe looked on as the two men left. "No Mulder," Phoebe thought as she watched Mulder disappear. "You've lost the will."

A heavy rain fell on the British Isles, soaking London and the whole country as though it were trying to wash away the day before its time. The car sped through traffic without stopping, its lights flashing and sirens blaring a warning to clear a path. Curious pedestrians looked inside, hoping to catch a fleeting glimpse of the person inside the car. Perhaps it was a wayward celebrity, or maybe an important head of state. But the only thing they saw was a man who was lost in sorrow and despair.

As the car left London and made its way onto the M9, Mulder fell asleep. He really just collapsed, the weight of the day forcing his eyelids down over sorrowful eyes. In his exhausted and fitful sleep, his mind played the scene over and over and over again - the car careening out of control, the sight of his daughter, the crash, the explosion. And Scully's face. Her face. Her face....

"MULDER!!!!"

Mulder awoke with a start. The car, which had been moving like a Zephyr through the countryside, was now inching slowly forward. The inspector looked at Mulder through his rear view mirror. "Sorry, sir," the young inspector apologized. "Bit of a backlog here, but not to worry. They're trying to clear the way here - we'll be on the go in a jiffy...."

Mulder looked outside to try and get his bearings. He saw a building in the distance, and after a moment, he recognized where they were.

They were outside of Sternwood Castle.

***********************************************************************

Gregory the butler met the car the moment it pulled up to Brittlegate Manor. He solemnly opened the door, holding the umbrella over Mulder to protect him from the rain. The two men walked silently up the marble steps, and into the Manor. 

Mulder couldn't bear to return to their room. Not now, not just yet. He went instead to the library, and stood in front of the great picture window, watching the rain. It was as though the heavens were weeping for him because he had no tears left. Geoffrey left tea for him on the small table next to the armchair, but he never touched it. After a while, Geoffrey came back to remove the still - laden tray.

"If I might say so, sir," he said before he left the room. "She was a lovely woman; your wife was a very lovely woman, and we are all dreadfully sorry for your loss."

Mulder nodded his head in acknowledgement and thanks.

Mulder climbed the stairs, one by one, to their room. When he opened the door, he was thankful to see that the maid had not cleaned it, but left things just as they were when he had left. There were still remnants of her, of her presence, in the unmade bed, her clothes draped across the dressing table chair.

It was as if she were gone for just a little while, and not forever.

Mulder walked into the bathroom, and turned on the light. Scully's negligee and robe were draped on the hook on the door, just as she had left them. He took down her robe, and cradled it in his arms, holding it as though he were holding her. He brought it to his nose, the scent of her filling his nostrils and his soul. And his heart did something he thought it had already done.

It broke, utterly and completely.

Mulder buried his face in the soft folds of her garment, and cried in huge, racking sobs. His sorrow dragged him down to the floor, and he fell fast and without resistance. He raised his head to heaven, as though his voice would carry through brick and mortar, through trees and clouds up to the woman he loved.

"Scully!" he sobbed. 

****************************************************************************

Phoebe finally wrapped things up at the hospital at eight p.m. It had been a long day. If someone had told her twenty-four hours earlier that she would have to investigate cases involving the death of a classmate and a classmate's wife, she would have told them they were crazy. Yet here she was, making the final notes on each case. It really was true what the song said - what a difference a day makes.

There really wasn't much else for her to do until the forensics report was done on the car crash, and she didn't expect that to happen until tomorrow or the next day. The steady, driving rain had done a lot to hamper the investigation. An investigation dome had to be raised quickly around the crash site, but even though they worked as fast as they could, there was bound to be some evidence lost.

In Phoebe's professional opinion, she knew they might never know what happened in that car crash.

Phoebe rubbed her neck, trying to massage the kinks out of it. Her neck was one big knot of tension, and she knew it would be that way for a while. She grabbed her briefcase and started to leave when she heard someone call her name.

"Chief Inspector! Chief Inspector Montague; a word!"

Phoebe turned around to see Chief Medical Examiner Louisa Cranford running after her down the hall. Her cheeks were flushed, as though she had been running the hundred-yard dash, and she was drenched from head to foot. "Yes, Dr. Cranford, of course," Phoebe replied when the woman reached her. "Thank... You...," she replied, almost out of breath. 

"Steady, now..." Phoebe said. 

Dr. Cranford finally regained her composure and spoke. "We've discovered something in the investigation that really cannot wait until morning." 

"Yes," Phoebe answered, "go on." 

"We were able to find the cremains of four distinct individuals in the wreckage of the car crash. Bloody hard because there really wasn't much left, and of course you know the rain.." 

"Please continue, Dr. Cranford," Phoebe replied, urging her to speed along in her discussion. "Well, as you know, part of our investigation always begins with a Western Blot, and that's where I found it," Dr. Cranford replied. 

"Found what?" asked Phoebe. 

"This..."

Dr. Cranford pulled out the DNA evidence discovered in the test. "Here's where your basic knowledge of biology comes in. As you may recall from Biology, human beings are comprised of 46 chromosomes or twenty-three pairs. Men, women, children - all of us. But if you'll see here, there are twenty-five pairs, or fifty seperate chromosomes. In each case."

Phoebe at that moment instantly knew what they were dealing with.

Phoebe pulled out her cell phone, and dialed her office. "This is Chief Inspector Phoebe Green Montague of Scotland Yard. I need for you to connect me to Interpol at once."


	41. The Sternwood Experiment

A shaft of light pierced the darkness. Mulder squinted in an effort to see who was in the doorway, but all he could make our was a tall, shadowy figure. "Agent Mulder," it said, "Sorry to intrude, but Lady Montague needs to speak to you right away. I tried ringing you here, sir, but there wasn't an answer." 

"That's alright, Geoffrey," Mulder replied.

Mulder turned on the lamp on the nightstand. He had been sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark, the thought of sleeping alone in the bed he'd so recently shared with Scully something he couldn't face. Geoffrey walked into the room, handed Mulder the cordless phone, and left. "Go ahead, Phoebe," he replied solemnly. 

"Mulder, it appears that there's a break on the case," Phoebe replied.

At that instant, the spark of something he thought he had lost began to burn with intensity. It was hope.

"How much do you remember of your high school biology?" Phoebe asked. 

"I don't remember much of anything right now, Phoebe," Mulder replied. 

"Allow me to fill in the blanks, then," she replied. "Human DNA, as you may remember, is comprised of forty-six chromosomes, or twenty-three pairs. DNA - the building blocks that make us who we are..." 

"I'm sorry, Phoebe, but unless there's recess and a pep rally at the end of this, I really don't wish to repeat high school," Mulder replied. 

"Then let us move on to early twenty-first century history," Phoebe replied. "As you may recall, cloning began with a sheep towards the very end of the twentieth century, and sped along to the inevitable - the cloning of the first human in 2003. The medical community fought vehemently against it, due to the obvious ethical and moral issues; however it was done. As it was soon discovered, instability in the cloning process led to very disastrous results. Rapid cell mutation led to the growth of tumors in the clones, infection, and gross enlargement and mutations in the cardio-pulmonary systems of the clones that resulted in certain death. It was discovered the reason why this was happening was there was no room for expansion within the normal twenty-three pairs; sort of like stuffing a sausage casing with too much meat..." 

"Let's wrap it up, Phoebe," Mulder anxiously replied. 

"In 2005, a scientist here in Great Britain discovered he could control the mutations in the cloned DNA by manufacturing a synthetic pair of chromosomes, bringing the number of individual chromosomes to fifty rather than forty-six." Phoebe continued, "and thus creating the needed room. He managed to clone a successful pair of human clones, Eve Two and Adam Two...."

At the mention of these two names, Mulder suddenly began to realize where Phoebe was heading.

"But by then," Phoebe continued, "human cloning was banned throughout the world, the clones euthanized," 

"and the scientist imprisoned for crimes against humanity," Mulder finished. 

"Precisely," Phoebe answered. "The technique, you may remember, was not named after the scientist, but rather after the town where he had his lab. Sternwood." 

"Hence the name, `the Sternwood Experiment,'" Mulder answered.

Phoebe paused before she spoke again. "The Chief Medical Examiner came to me a while ago with some startling evidence, Mulder. She found four different samples of DNA in the wreckage of the car crash. Each sample had twenty-five pairs; fifty separate chromosomes. They were Sternwood clones, Mulder. Which means..."

"Which means Scully is still alive," finished Mulder. 

"There's a distinct possibility, Mulder - yes." Phoebe answered.

"Mulder, I've called Interpol in on the case," Phoebe replied. "They will work in concert with the Yard to cover all points of entry in and out of the country and all over Europe. We will, of course, work with the Bureau to cover points of entry in the U.S. We have this case covered, Mulder" 

"And Meena; what about Meena?" Mulder asked. 

"She will have around the clock protection, starting immediately," Phoebe replied.

Mulder began to look for a fresh change of clothes. "I'm coming back there, Phoebe," he began. 

"No, Mulder, you are to stay put," Phoebe ordered. "I'm sending guards to Brittlegate right now to ensure your safety. Until we know who's behind this..." 

"I already have an idea," Mulder replied, but Phoebe never heard him. "Until we know for certain who is behind this," Phoebe continued "I do not need you wandering the English countryside. We will handle this Mulder. Promise me you will stay put." "I promise," Mulder finally replied.

Had Phoebe been standing behind Mulder at that moment, she would have seen that he had his fingers crossed behind his back.

******************************************************************

Phoebe hung up her cell phone, and made her way down the corridor to intensive care. As she walked, she passed two of her guards in the hallway. "You and you," she said, pointing to the guards. "You will post guard in intensive care in front of room 1013. No one goes in or out of that room without clearance; do you understand?" the guards nodded. "Follow me," Phoebe ordered.

They never realized that the effort would be in vain until they reached intensive care.

"Where's the patient that was in this room?" Phoebe asked when she arrived. 

"She was released by doctor's orders," the night nurse replied. 

"That is impossible," Phoebe snapped back. "The young woman in this room was catatonic; there was no way she could bloody well walk out of this hospital, and I sincerely doubt Dr. Fairchild..." 

"But she was released under Dr. Fairchild's orders," the nurse replied. "He signed the order himself." 

"Where is he?" Phoebe demanded.

A sudden, bone chilling scream answered her question.

Phoebe and the two guards rushed down the hallway to find a volunteer standing in front of an open supply closet. There on the ground was the body of Dr. Fairchild.

He had been murdered. 

*********************************************************************

Phoebe waited until the sheet had been drawn over Dr. Fairchild's body before she called Mulder. She finally had to confess that she never really, truly believed any of what Mulder had said - that Scully was alive, that the young woman in intensive care was his and Scully's daughter- until she'd seen the forensic results and... until this moment. She had doubted Mulder, even though she knew his keen and insightful theories were seldom, if ever, wrong. And now that she knew, that she realized he had been right, she had to tell him his daughter was missing - again - and in serious danger. Again.

The phone rang for what seemed to be an eternity, yet there wasn't an answer. She finally called the kitchen, and reached the chef. She, in turn, found Geoffrey, her butler. After asking him if he had seen Agent Mulder, she asked him to go upstairs and tell Mulder again that she needed to speak to him. Geoffrey picked up the upstairs extension after five minutes.

"I'm sorry for the delay, Lady Montague, but Agent Mulder doesn't appear to be in the guest quarters. Or in the library. I don't know how to say this," Geoffrey continued, "but it seems that Agent Mulder has simply vanished...."

*************************************************************************

".....What do you mean, `disappeared' Lieutenant?" Phoebe asked. She asked Geoffrey to head the search through Brittlegate, working in concert with the team she had sent to protect Mulder. She was now on the phone with the lieutenant and, quite frankly, didn't like what she had heard. "People don't simply disappear," she continued. 

"Begging your pardon, Chief Inspector, but he did." 

"And have you had the where-with-all, Lieutenant Quick, to search the premises?" Phoebe demanded. 

"Every inch, Chief Inspector," replied the lieutenant. "We're questioning the staff now." 

"Call me back as soon as you're done, Lieutenant. Oh, and Lieutenant," Phoebe continued. "I need to know - do you expect there was any foul play involved in the disappearance?" 

The dead air on the other end of the line made Phoebe's heart stop mid-beat.

"We're not yet certain, Chief Inspector. But we'll let you know."

**************************************************************************

It was a long twenty minutes before the cel phone rang again, but Phoebe answered it on the first ring. "Chief Inspector Montague," she answered. 

"Yes, Chief Inspector; this is Lieutenant Quick. I believe I have some answers for you." 

"Go on," Phoebe replied.

She wasn't entirely certain she wanted to hear them, but she had to ask.

"We've located the whereabouts of Agent Mulder," the lieutenant continued. "We spoke with your driver, Darcy, who said that he borrowed one of your cars and a map. He asked him what was the quickest way to Sternwood Castle."

Phoebe cursed Mulder and thanked God he was alive in one breath.

"How long ago, lieutenant?" 

"He left about twenty, thirty minutes ago," the lieutenant replied. Phoebe went into action. "Send all available units into surveillance at Sternwood Castle. I want a car waiting for me at the North Post Road between Brittlegate and Sternwood. I'll be there in thirty minutes." 

She hung up the phone, and turned to one of her inspectors. "I'll need air transportation here to pick me up as soon as possible." Phoebe ordered. "It's still raining quite heavily, Chief Inspector; shall I have dispatch send the hydrocopter instead." 

"Yes," she replied, "the sooner, the better. Tell them we'll be flying with instruments and radar. Sternwood is heavily wooded, so we'll have to land just outside of Brittlegate. That will be all."

Phoebe hung up her cel phone as she walked to the elevator. "You're bloody lucky Mulder we _have_ hydrocopters," She thought. Her frustration level grew as she waited for the elevator, and she found herself poking the button in an effort to make it come faster.

"Damn you Mulder!" Phoebe said aloud. "You gave me your word!"

*****************************************************************************

"Sorry, Phoebe; I had my fingers crossed," Mulder thought.

The black Mercedes sped through the rain towards Sternwood castle as Mulder drove faster than he should have on a wet road. His mind raced past the events of the day and went back to earlier in the week. He remembered what Scully had said as they walked across the drawbridge into the great stone edifice...

"A person could have hidden all kinds of secrets here." Scully said.

Scully; the woman he loved. Scully; the mother of their child. Scully; the woman who was life itself to him. 

She was alive, and he knew it in his heart. 

That's why she came to him; that's why he heard her voice so clearly, calling to him in his despair. She was his constant, his touchstone. And he was hers.

And he would save her, no mater what the cost.

Mulder put the clog to the accelerator and the finely-tuned auto responded in the span of his next breath. He knew time wasn't on side, and anything he could do to make it bend to his will, he would do. As he came to a turn in the road, he slowed down a little to follow the bend.

He didn't see the fallen tree in the road until it was almost too late.

Mulder swerved to avoid hitting the tree, and the car shot like a missile into the brambles and underbrush. They did little to help the car slow down, and the seatbelt jerked Mulder back hard into the drivers seat. Mulder's arms flew up into his face as the airbag deployed and he screamed.

"SCULLY!"


	42. Hydrogen & Oxygen Make Water

She thought she heard Mulder's voice.

Her eyelids flew open, but all she could see was the stone ceiling above her. There was a lump on the back of her head the size of a pet rock, but she couldn't lift her hand to feel it. Her arms were wrapped around her body and restrained. 

It didn't take Scully long to realize she was in a straight jacket.

She had no idea where she was, and she couldn't turn her head to see. There was a strap across her forehead that secured her head to the table, making it impossible to move her head. She tried to move her legs, but realized that they too were strapped to the table.

She was trapped.

Unable to move, Scully relied on her senses to provide clues. Her nostrils picked up the dank, damp smell of mildew, and what skin that had been exposed to the elements was cold. Was it a basement? Some kind of storage locker? She could hear the rain outside in the distance, but that didn't worry her as much as the other sound she heard.

Running water. Running water that sounded like it was cascading from a waterfall.

Scully tried to piece together as much of the day as she could remember. She remembered seeing the news about the death of Mulder's college friend, thus ending any chances they could use his lab to create the antidote necessary to restore Mina's memory. She remembered racing to Notting Hill in the hopes of stumbling into Mina and the baby there, and instead found her with Krycek, the man who had wanted her child dead before she was even born. She and Mina had tried to escape - that was it! - and she was waiting for her daughter to take her to safety when she called Mulder. 

Mulder. The last words she said to him were, "I love you."

"Mulder," she said aloud.

Suddenly, Scully realized she wasn't alone.

"He can't hear you Scully; nobody can," replied Krycek. "Nobody can hear us, or see us, or knows where we are. We have Spender to thank for that."

"My father?! What are you talking about?! What is this?!"

Scully didn't recognize the voice, but she realized it must belong to Drew, the father of her grandchild and Krycek's son. By the tone of his voice, however, Scully realized he didn't know his real father was in the room with them.

"What do you mean we have Spender to thank for this?!"

**********************************************************************

"I really wouldn't smoke in here, sir," the doctor replied.

In absolute defiance of his suggestion, the man with the curly, salt-and-pepper black hair took a long drag, and blew smoke in the doctor's face. 

"Are you aware," he said slowly, "that the last doctor who tried to tell me what to do suddenly and quite inexplicably stopped breathing - permanently? I suppose it is true that smoking can be hazardous to your health after all." 

The doctor's eyes turned red as he resisted the overwhelming urge to cough. "I'm thinking in the best interests of the patient," he replied. 

"So am I," replied his tormentor. "It isn't in this patient's best interests for you to stop breathing."

Spender looked down at the young woman, his niece. Or was it his half-niece? He was, after all, her father's half-brother. The half she never knew about, and if things went according to plan, never would and wouldn't know who to ask to find out. Once she received the double dose of the analytic histamine, it would effectively wipe out any and all memories of Mulder, of Scully, of her life, and of her baby.

Which, he suddenly realized, is what he had planned all along. 

It occurred to him as he smuggled Meena right out from under the noses of Scotland Yard's best investigators that he really didn't need her to raise the brat. He would do it himself - or, rather, someone else would. Someone he'd hire to deal with the squealing and whiney neediness of a child. He was not the paternal type; a trait he inherited from his own father. And, as it became necessary, the brat would grow up to know his place in, and become a useful part of the alien colonization. The man with the curly, salt-and-pepper laughed to himself for a minute. It was absolutely inconceivable to him that Mulder, his half-witted half-brother, actually thought that the threat of alien colonization had been eradicated! The movement was merely dormant; the movement had merely gone further underground until the right moment. And that moment happened with the pairing of two offspring that were resistant to the alien virus - Meena, the perfect alien/human hybrid and Drew, a direct descendant of two people who'd been exposed to the black oil. Their offspring continued the line of alien/human hybridization.

And to think that Krycek had tried to prevent this moment by trying to kill Mulder and Scully's child so long ago.

Ah, yes; Krycek. And Scully and Drew, Krycek's bastard son. He needed to do something with them. He had something special planned for them, but first things first. 

He had to effectively take care of Mulder and Scully's daughter first.

"But the patient is catatonic, sir. I really don't think it's wise to administer such a high dose of the analytic histamine," the doctor began. 

"I don't pay you to think; I pay you to do as you're told!" Spender snapped. 

"But the treatment could drive her so far into a catatonic state that she might never recover. The toxicity of the treatment in addition to residual amounts of the treatment in her bloodstream could also very well kill her!"

Mulder's half-brother and Meena's half-uncle looked hard at the doctor.

"You say that as though it were a problem, doctor."

***************************************************************************

The Scotland Yard Hydrocopter touched down in a field not far from Brittlegate Manor. It had been a rough flight, even with the aircraft's advanced technology. The rain that had pelted Great Britain had turned into a full-fledged summer storm with high winds and mighty lightning bolts. The hydrocopter almost didn't make its destination, and came close to being struck by lightening twice.

Lieutenant Quick was there to meet Phoebe when she got out of the aircraft. They ran across the field a short distance to an SUVA that had been sent by the lieutenant to meet them. Phoebe had originally asked for a squad car to meet her at the North Post Road, but changed her mind as the weather grew increasingly rough. She requested that an SUV be sent as close as possible to the landing site to meet her, with the intention that she and the investigating officer or officers drive on from there. 

"Apprise me of the situation, Lieutenant," she yelled over the wind as they ran. 

"It's been a rough go of it with the weather, 'mam," Lieutenant Quick yelled back, "but I can finally say that we've set up surveillance around Sternwood Castle." 

"Any news on the whereabouts of Agent Mulder?" Phoebe yelled in reply. The lieutenant shook his head. "I'm sorry, Chief Inspector, but I'm afraid I've nothing to report."

Lieutenant Quick and Chief Inspector Phoebe Green Montague got in the SUV; he in the passenger's seat, she in the driver's. "Well, let's hope that will change soon. I think we'd better make our way there." 

"I've taken the liberty to set up a command station not far from Sternwood Castle," the Lieutenant replied. "I can give you the directions." 

"Lead on, then," Phoebe said as she put the vehicle in gear.

Phoebe and the Lieutenant didn't know it, but they were soon traveling the same path Mulder had taken to rescue Scully. They drove down the winding road, their visibility hampered by the rain. The wind ripped the leaves from their branches and sent them flying across the windshield, further compromising their sight. They drove on until all of a sudden, they saw an obstacle in the road.

"Can you see what's ahead, lieutenant?" Phoebe asked as she drove. 

"I think it's a tree, Chief Inspector, but it I'm not sure," he replied. Phoebe slowed down and stopped as soon as they approached. Both she and the lieutenant got out of the vehicle to see if there was any way around the tree in the road. 

"It looks like we're stuck here, Inspector...." Lieutenant Quick began, but Phoebe cut him off. 

"Look over here!" Phoebe cried over the wind. "It looks as if a vehicle left the road." 

"I'll go and get the torches," the lieutenant replied. He ran over to the SUV, retrieved two flashlights, and gave one to Chief Inspector Montague. Phoebe directed the beam of light directly in front of her, and that's when she saw it.

Her BMW.

"Lieutenant, radio for back-up immediately," Phoebe ordered as she ran ahead. She noticed that, despite the impact of the crash, the car remarkably sustained minor damage.

But she wasn't worried about the car.

"Mulder!" Phoebe called out as she reached the vehicle. The light from her flashlight bounced off the white of the deployed airbags as she approached. "Mulder! Are you alright?" she yelled. She noticed the door was open as she approached the car.

When she reached it, and looked inside, she discovered Mulder was gone.

***********************************************************************

Mulder's body had been sending messages to his brain that it was in pain. A broken rib; a sprain, a hairline fracture - there was no telling. Mulder's brain ignored the messages his body sent because it was preoccupied with other things. He had to get to Scully; he had to save her.

After that, after they were both safe, the body could do whatever the hell it wanted.

He was drenched to the skin; the rain felt like needles against it as the wind drove the rain into his body like spikes. He made his way through the woods, running and searching, always searching. Scully was his compass, and due North was wherever she was.

He thought of all the things they had been through, of the times death hounded them and tried to take them and keep them from one another. Each time, they thought their luck had run out. But as they realized, time and time again, luck has a funny way of changing, of turning.

Mulder prayed this was one of those times.

He stopped for the first time in what seemed to be a long time. He bent down, his hands on his upper thighs, and tried to catch his breath. Where? Where should he go?

Suddenly, lightening streaked through the sky, and gave him the direction he needed. With the next flash of light he saw the great, stone walls of Sternwood Castle. 

It was just ahead.

***************************************************************************

"Perhaps you didn't hear me." Drew repeated his question again. "Just exactly what did you mean by that last remark? Just exactly where do you get off making an accusation like that?! Quite frankly, I'm beginning to wonder if you really know my father just as well as you claim to know him."

Although Scully couldn't see his face, she could hear the hurt and indignation in the young man's voice, and her heart went out to him. She realized she knew nothing about this young man; the man for whom it could be said was part of the cause of her daughter's situation, yet she still felt sorry for him. He had been sold a bill of goods; told a tale full of lies and deceit passed off as the truth, and to hear the actual truth must be very difficult for him. She thought of Meena, and how hard it must have been for her when Mulder told her who she really was. Meena didn't know; she had no reason to believe him.

Scully thought again about what it would do to her when she found out.

"Are you sure you know everything about this man who claims to be your father?" Scully asked carefully. 

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Drew shot back, hurt and angry. "Who are the both of you to assassinate my father's name?" 

"Now there's a good choice of words," replied Krycek. "`Assassinate' has been a large part of your alleged father's history, and especially his father's past..." 

"Shut UP, Krycek!" Scully shouted out. The young man instantly picked up that something was different. "Krycek? What's this `Krycek' business?! That's not your name!" There was anger in his voice now as he spoke. "I demand to know exactly what is going on here! I demand an explanation, and I want it right now!"

Scully smelled the acrid scent of burning tobacco long before she heard his voice, and her blood ran cold. She recognized the scent - Morley's. "But that's impossible!" she thought "It can't be.."

When she heard the voice, she realized it wasn't who she expected at all.

"It's very simple," replied the man with the curly black salt-and-pepper hair. "I lied."

Scully had to admit that although she knew better, she hadn't entirely believed Mulder when she told her that Spender was alive, and played a major role in their daughter's disappearance. Spender was dead; shot by his father, CGB Spender. Everybody knew that - there was a report, and there was an autopsy. It was impossible. But as Mulder had said to her once, "if you didn't do the autopsy, Scully, I wouldn't believe it."

In the next few minutes, Scully discovered that her husband was right.

The loud creaking noise of a large wooden wheel assaulted her ears as she felt the table she was on move to an upright position. The wheel moved the three of them, and as soon as they were all upright, she realized that the tables were arranged in a deep crescent. Through her peripheral vision, she was finally able to get a glimpse of the other people on either side of her.

By looking straight ahead, she could see that Jeffrey Spender was indeed very much alive.

"I'm certain that fact and my appearance might come as a shock to some of you in this room; I know at least that my existence might come at a shock to you, Agent Scully." 

Spender made his way down the stone steps, and walked to within inches of Scully's face. "And how _is_ my dear sister-in-law," he asked. 

"Pardon me for not spitting in your face," Scully replied, "But my mother raised me to be a lady." 

"Why, Scully," Spender replied, "And just when I was going to do this..."

Before she realized what was happening, Spender undid the leather strap that was biting into 

her forehead. He did the same for Krycek and Drew, then stood back and looked as pleased with his handiwork as if he had just painted the Sistine Chapel. "I guess such a small man doesn't get too many chances to feel this big," Krycek replied. Spender held up the palm pilot of doom he'd used so many times to torture Krycek. "Shall we show Scully and Drew how well this little device works, Krycek?" asked Spender. He raised the stylus in the air and was about to bring it down when he was stopped by Drew's question.

"Dad? I don't understand....."

Spender stopped what he was doing as though he really was his father, and he was highly irritated that he had been interrupted yet again by his spoiled little boy. "Alright, I really don't have time to do this, but since you INSIST on being a pain in the ass, I'll explain it - but I'm only going to say this ONCE." Spender jabbed a finger in his own chest for emphasis. "Me; not the father." Spender then stabbed the air in Krycek's direction. "Him; the father. He is your father and she," Spender said as he pointed at Scully, "is your Mother-in-Law. Oh yes, that's right - she can't be your Mother-in-Law because you and the woman you think is your wife aren't married. It's all a hoax - your marriage, my so-called paternity as it relates to this 'situation' ... The only thing that's real is the baby. It is yours, it is that stupid little airhead Meena's... But I'm keeping it." Spender turned to Scully. "This may come as a shock to you, but I really don't give a shit." 

Scully put on a brave front, even though the news that Spender wouldn't give up his hold on her grandson cut her to the quick. "The wrong person's in this straight jacket, Spender," she said. "Really?" Spender replied. "I think not. Crazy people don't come up with brilliant plans, Agent Scully. I had it all planned. Call my 'son' into the office for an emergency meeting, spike his coffee, bring him here.... Have my people tail Krycek and your daughter - what a stroke of luck that you happened to be in the right place at the right time - for _me_.... While the three of you were unconscious and otherwise out for the count, I was able to get DNA from each of you to create Sternwood clones - even the baby. You do remember the Sternwood Experiment, don't you, Scully? I should think that, as a scientist, it would be of particular interest to you." 

"It doesn't surprise me that you'd use a so-called scientific method deemed illegal and immoral by the world court," she replied. 

"It suited my needs at the time," Spender replied. "Those other issues were of course no interest to me."

Spender walked the room as though he were a professor giving a lecture on applied physics. "The attention to detail had to be perfect, of course. Right down to the placement of your wedding band, my dear sister-in-law. Tucked in behind your FBI badge and photo. I knew that would tear Mulder up - that's especially why I did it. Imagine what he must have felt, staring down at the last trace of his wife on this earth. Of course, there _is_ the possibility that it didn't survive the crash at all, but if it did... Well, I certainly would enjoy the thought of Mulder in extreme anguish. 


	43. In A Castle Dark

The only thing that stood between Mulder and Sternwood castle was a rain-saturated clearing. His journey from the tree-line to the castle proved to be a difficult one; several times ruts, divots and potholes caused from the drenching rain impeded his journey. He fell, over and over and over again; the pain from the injuries he sustained from the car crash were a constant reminder that he needed medical help, but he didn't care.

Scully was his only concern, and he felt, he knew that time was growing short.

A lightening burst reveled to him what he had feared most when he reached the gates of the castle. The drawbridge that had been lowered before for the party, and now the drawbridge that was down the first time he and his wife had ever entered the castle, was up. A great, yawing gulf separated him from the castle, and Mulder looked down, down, down into the moat that surrounded the castle on all sides. He had no way of knowing how deep the moat was, but suspected water levels in it had risen considerably during the storm. He had no way of knowing, if he jumped into the moat and crossed to the other side, how he would get inside the castle walls. And then the answer came to him, fueled by as much a sense of desperation as it was by a sense of urgency. He would claw his way in. He would scale the walls. He would do whatever he needed to do to get inside, come hell or high water.

"Well," he thought, "I've already been through hell; and the high water had already reached its mark."

With the next flash of lightening, Mulder was able to see where land ended and the moat began. By the time the thunder caught up with the speed of light, Mulder was in the water.

He dragged his battered and beaten body through the murky waters towards the castle, each stroke causing him pain just as each stroke brought him closer to the castle walls. Mulder fought as hard as he could, blocking out the pain. Thinking only about Scully.

But something was wrong.

Mulder suddenly found himself struggling in the water. His mind raced with questions; it was as if he were swimming upstream against a current. But that was impossible; how could there be a current in a still body of water? As the current became stronger, he suddenly realized what it was.

There was a run-off drain in the moat, and the force was pulling him in.

The roar of rushing water grew stronger as Mulder got closer to the drain. He fought against the current with every ounce of his remaining strength, but it was no use.

He took a frantic, last gulp of air before the force of the runoff sucked him below the water's surface. 

********************************************************************************

The man with the curly, salt-and-pepper hair took a moment to enjoy the image of a tortured Mulder; a man crushed under the weight of his own agony and despair. A smile creped across his face, almost cracking it. Smiling wasn't something he did on a regular basis. "Ah yes," he said aloud. "A well executed, well thought out plan is an absolute joy when it works. And this one has worked oh so very well. But it's not over with yet."

Spender, the man with the curly, salt and pepper hair walked up to Scully, his face inches away from hers. The sight of his nicotine-stained teeth and the smell of his tobacco laden breath almost made her stomach turn. But his next comment would make the bile rise in her throat.

"And what of young Meena, my dear half-sister-in-law? Don't tell me you've forgotten the child you carried for so long; the child you risked your life to have?"

Scully hadn't forgotten about her child; forgetting about the one she loved more than live itself was impossible. She had simply hoped beyond hope that Meena had gotten away; that somehow her father was able to get to her and save her. She didn't ask, didn't say anything because some part of her hoped that by not uttering her name, whatever evil fate awaited her would pass her by. But it was not to be.

"Maybe it's best that you forget her," Spender said in a harsh whisper. "Because I can assure you she's forgotten you. She is as dead to you as you are to her. The two injections removing all traces, all memories of her life with you and my dear, half-witted half-brother Mulder have already been given. It's as if you never existed- but it was like that before the injections. Poor thing is - what did the doctors say? Catatonic. Yes; that's it. Her mind snapped just like that." Spender snapped his fingers within an inch of her eyes, and it took every ounce of willpower for Scully not to blink.

Or cry. 

"The drugs will just make certain that she never comes back," Spender continued. "Either that, or kill her - one of the two. Kill her dead as the proverbial doornail."

Spender took a few steps back so that his three hostages could get a good look at him, and make certain his next words would sink in.

"A state which the three of you should be experiencing shortly."

****************************************************************************

"So, this is what it's like," he thought.

Mulder floated in the moat, buffet hither and yon like a rag doll through the dark and murky waters. The current bat him from side to side as if he were a soccker ball being kicked by a great, giant foot. He had seen death before in his work, stared it down like a bully after him and those less able to defend themselves with the sole purpose of stealing their milk money. He had been mistaken for dead himself - even to the point that there was a funeral where he was the guest of honor. But he had managed to beat death, to cheat it at its own game. And he knew why.

Scully. He lived for her, would sacrifice his life for her. There were times he was asked to do so, and he did it gladly, all for her.

Scully. 

"This must be it," he thought.

He found his mind racing through the proverbial moments of his life; the ones people spoke of that happen, that come to you just before you slough off this mortal coil. The first time he met Scully. The first time he told her he loved her, and she told him she loved him back. The first time he looked at his daughter. Their wedding. So many moments...

He remembered a party they had attended once. He had not wanted to go, but Scully persuaded him to go, and as it was with the most loved and most important women in his life, he could not refuse them something they really, truly wanted. And so he went, starched tuxedo, stiff neck and all to this party. At some point in the evening, the discussion turned to literature - more specifically, to the members of the famous Algonqiun Round Table. At the evening's particular moment, conversation turned to Dorothy Parker and her poem outlining the arguments against suicide. As one of the dinner guests recited the poem and got to the line about drowning, someone who'd had a bit too much champagne called out, 

"Drowning?! Drowning's easy! All you have to do is stop struggling, and breathe in! Deep!"

Breathe in. Deep.

Mulder's lungs had used up the allotment of air he had given them shortly before his head wal pulled under. His chest was about to burst, and it was as if his whole being were crying out for air, for the chance for his lungs to expand and contract. His lungs ached. His muscles ached. He was tired. And the fight was so hard.

But drowning was easy. All he had to do was to stop struggling, and breathe in deep. And at that moment, he let go. He stopped. He made his peace with the fate that awaited him, and there was just one more step.

But he couldn't take it.

He remembered the argument he made at the dinner party in response to the comment from the inebriated dinner guest. "It seems to me," he remembered saying, "that the only way it would be easy for someone to do that was if they had lost the will to live. If there was nothing for them to live for. No one for them to live for. I think it stands to reason that if you had those two things that yes, indeed, it would be very hard to stop struggling."

And such was the case now. He had people to live for, he had a reason to fight. And that was all he needed. No matter how week his body got.

As Mulder struggled against the currents, he saw a light pierce the dark water. Was it the light that signaled his departure from this veil of tears? It called to him, it beckoned him, and Mulder did the only thing he could do.

He followed it.

******************************************************************************* 

The man with the curly, black, salt-and -pepper hair let the smoke from his cigarette trail upwards through the air before he spoke again. It didn't matter to him that he was prolonging the agony of his hostages; in fact, he rather enjoyed it. The fact that each of them grappled with the possibility that the last thing they would see was this room and that the next breath they took could be their last didn't matter to him at all. The only way that would have mattered would have required compassion and humanity - two things which he did not have. In order to possess those qualities, one would have to possess a soul. And he had lost his soul the moment the bullet from his father's gun pierced it.

"I never realized how brilliant my father was until recently," he finally said. Krycek smirked at his comment. "You mean how evil, don't you?" he asked sarcastically. Spender held up the PDA and forcefully brought the stylus down on the screen. Krycek's screams echoed over the sound of the running water that came from somewhere deep within the castle. "I trust this means I won't have to tell you again to SHUT UP," Spender replied once Krycek's pain subsided. The display of abject cruelty was too much for Drew, Krycek's son, to bear. 

"How can you _do_ this?!" he demanded. "Just what kind of monster _are_ you?!" Spender moved to within inches of the young man's face. "Let this be my last bit of so-called fatherly advice," he hissed. "My father once told me, long before I fully and completely knew who he was, that I should take care to watch the board; to know which men to sacrifice, and when. As I discovered later, he didn't have the faith to believe that I would ever understand what he meant. But he was wrong. I understood then, and I understand now all too well."

Spender turned his attention to Scully. He raised his hand to stroke her cheek as though he were a lover memorizing the intimate details of her face. "I was curious, my dear half-sister-in-law, just how good your knowledge was of British history ..." Scully jerked her head to the side, repulsed and revolted by his touch. Satisfied that he got the response from her that he wanted, he backed away and stood where the three hostages could see him. 

"You know, it's amazing. Everybody calls Mary, Queen of Scots 'Bloody Mary' in reference to her alleged persecution of Protestants during her reign, but it wasn't her but Mary Tudor who implemented ingenious torture methods all in the interests of bringing them back to the one true church. You see, Mary Tudor was a bit of a Roman Catholic zealot..." 

"`Zealot's' a term you should know well, I would think," Krycek interrupted. 

"SHUT UP OR I WILL KILL YOU NOW!" Spender yelled.

After Spender's outburst, Scully truly began to believe for the first time that she would not leave the dungeon alive. 

"Mary Tudor," Spender continued after a moment, "devised many a clever little way to, shall we say, convince wayward Protestants to see the error of their ways. This castle dungeon was one of many used by Mary Tudor and her supporters in their gentle yet firm persuation. It has it's standards, of course - the rack, the iron maiden.... But it's my particular adaptaion of an old favorite I think you'll most enjoy."

Suddenly, the tables that held each of the hostages rotated so that each of them was upside down. The sound of a large winch caught Scully's attention, and she struggled to see where it was. Then, just as quickly as their tables had been up-ended, each of the hostages felt themselves jerked upward. Three great, giant hooks had descended from the ceiling, lifting them up and away from the tables, which lowered into a pit below them. The three hostages hung in mid-air much like meat suspended from meat hooks.

As the blood rushed to their heads, Spender continued his macabre lecture on how they were to die.

"You see, Mary Tudor loved to start with this particular torture," Spender began, "thinking that the sudden blood rush to the head would instantly convince weaker Protestants to come back to the arms of the Catholic Church. Effective, yes; but too simple for my needs." He paused a minute to listen to the roar of the running water. "Water; such a cleansing thing. Such an integral part of religious ceremonies. The water of life; the water of rebirth. So powerful and yet so deadly." Scully could feel herself getting lightheaded, and she fought for some ounce of control. "So what's your plan, Spender?" she shouted out, "to bore us to death?"

"No," he coolly replied. "To drown you. Or maybe electrocute you. I really haven't decided."

Spender continued to outline his diabolical plan. "While the three of you were otherwise disposed and oh, unconscious, we've had quite a bit of rain. Rain on the land, rain on the castle, rain in the moat.... And all that water's got to go somewhere. As soon as I leave, a switch will be activated that will open a floodgate in this room. I suppose I should also tell you that there is an electrical transformer built into the wall halfway up it. Since we all know how well water mixes with electricity, I trust I won't have to tell you what will happen when your heads are underwater and the water touches the live transformer. I don't know how long each of you can hold your breath, nor do I care. I only care that either way it happens, you will be dead. Thus proving I know which men to sacrifice, and when."

Spender turned to leave, lighting another cigarette as he made his exit. He stopped, and turned to face his condemned hostages one last time. "I suppose there is a very remote possibility of escape and the improbability of a rescue from the outside, but I doubt it. Besides," he said as he opened the door, "the room is booby-trapped."

He left, slamming the door behind him. Two seconds afterward, the floodgates were opened, and the water began to rush in.

******************************************************************

They had to drive five miles back from the accident site in order to find a clearing in the woods. As Scotland Yard's S-Class BMW SUV made its way through the woods, Phoebe was glad she was able to convince the powers that be of its necessity. There was no way a fleet car would have made it through the underbrush and over the rocks and other obstacles. The Yard had a number of the SUVs, equipped with a number of rescue devices and equipment necessary to protect and save the innocent and the employees of the Yard.

"The innocent and the employees of the Yard," Phoebe thought as she drove through the night.

She hated to admit it, but one of the things that had drawn her to Mulder when they were at Oxford was his innocence, his naivetee. She had lost hers so many years ago then, and in her early twenties she was as jaded and pessimistic as people who were twice her age. Truth? What was that? Integrity? A characteristic she and others like her paid in passing lip service. Yet here he was, this beautiful, brilliant man, this Yank who trusted her. And she took his innocence: once on the tombstone of one of the world's most famous authors and again when she cast off a gift he had given her from his heart.

It had been hard for her, but not as hard as it was for Mulder, she had imagined.

Hard? How had it been hard for her? This is what she did. She preyed upon the innocent; sucking them dry like a dying man sucking the liquid out of a cactus. She did it because she was searching for her own lost innocence. She finally realized, especially when she ended her relationship with Mulder, that she would never find it.

Mulder in his own way made her realize that. And she owed him for that insight.

The lightening flash illuminated an exit from the woods into a clearing. The next bolt of lightening showed Phoebe and Lieutenant Quick exactly where they were.

Sternwood Castle.

As they approached their target, both realized that the drawbridge was up. Phoebe stopped just short of the gap separating them from the building, and got out of the vehicle. She paced back and forth on the shore, deciding what she had to do.

Suddenly, it came to her, and she realized she knew what she had to do all along. 

She was drenched when she came back to the vehicle. Lieutenant Quick opened the door as Phoebe made her way to the hatchback and gate. "What shall we do, Chief Inspector?" Quick asked. "Shall I radio for back up?" Phoebe did not answer until she inspected what supplies there were on hand. When she placed her requisition for the SUVs, she'd requested that each vehicle have at least one pair of all necessary equipment for land, air or sea rescue. The only thing this vehicle was missing was the extra Scuba/deep water diving gear.

It left her with no other choice.

"Get back into the car, Lieutenant," Phoebe barked, "I want you to call for back-up. Tell dispatch of our location - use the compass on the dashboard- and tell them to bring two teams with SUVs to this location. I will be attempting an amphibious rescue before their arrival." 

"Very well then, 'mam," Lieutenant Quick replied, "I'll come change into my wet suit when you are done." 

"That won't be necessary, Lieutenant," Phoebe replied. "There's only one in this vehicle. Seems like I will need to issue a memo to all personnell that all SUVs must be fully stocked at all times after this mission." Lieutenant Quick hesitated for a moment. "Chief Inspector Montague, you issued strict orders that diving was only to take place in teams...." 

"And if I issued the rules," Phoebe said curtly, "I can bloody well break them, Lieutenant." Phoebe took a moment before she spoke again. "Thank you, Lieutenant, for actually paying attention to my orders. If you do not hear from me within an hour, please proceed."

With that, Phoebe lowered her face mask, inserted her oxygen supply mask, and ran towards the water. In a few seconds, she was gone.

**********************************************************************

An inexplicable buoyancy forced Mulder's body up through the water, and as his head broke the surface, his mouth opened on reflex, taking in huge gulps of much-needed air. He floated for a second on the surface, half-conscious, his lungs fully expanding and contracting after being unable to do so for so long. As his body began to sink back down into the watery abyss, Mulder came to and fought back, forcing himself to keep his head above the surface.

He was alive, and alive he was going to stay.

Mulder turned in the water, trying to survey his surroundings. There wasn't much that he could see. A small worklight protruded from the wall across from him, and the small circle of light it provided wasn't enough to give him a sense of where he was. He suspected it was some kind of cave or hiding place in the bowels of the castle; he wasn't sure. But he knew there was only one way to find out.

Mulder dragged his beaten and battered body through the water to what looked like a landing. He knew he was hurt, but he didn't know the extent of his injuries until he tried to lift himself out of the water with both arms and almost couldn't support his weight. The pain in his left arm was excruciating, radiating from his lower arm and up to his shoulder. It knocked the wind out of him as he fell face down on the landing. He had fractured his arm, most likely in the accident that wrecked Phoebe's car. He rolled over onto his back, and tried to look at his arm in the dim light. Mulder guessed he had a hairline fracture somewhere in the arm - it didn't look like there had been a clean and complete break. But break, fracture or otherwise, it wasn't going to stop him from what he needed to do. He would just have to suck it up, and deal with it.

Mulder got his legs under him, and pushed himself off the ground with his good arm. As he moved in closer, he got a better look at the walls and saw they were cobblestone. This could only mean that he had surfaced somewhere below the castle. But where? And how was he going to get out? Going back the way he came wasn't the answer; he didn't know if he would be so lucky. And what resources did he have? He didn't have a flashlight; that was in the car. He didn't have matches or wood to light a torch, and if he did have the wood, the matches wouldn't have survived the water.

"So rely on your senses," his subconscious said. 

Mulder tried to see what lay beyond the circle of light cast by the naked light bulb. It looked as though a ledge extended beyond where he stood. Maybe it was a walkway. 

Or maybe it was the path back into the water and to certain doom.

Not knowing how wide the ledge was, Mulder pressed his back against the wall, and inched his way along it in the darkness. The journey was painstakingly slow as he felt along the wall, looking for an opening, a door, a way out. He didn't dare stick his foot out for fear they might be nothing there; he didn't dare go faster for fear his haste to get to Scully would result in tragic circumstances. Yet as began to fall into despair, he thought of Scully, his constant, his touchstone. It kept him sane. It kept him going.

Finally, Mulder saw something. He squinted, then opened his eyes again in an effort to focus. Was it a light?

Yes. And it looked like it was coming from under a door.

He moved quicker now, pressing hard against the wall. The light got closer and closer as he moved along, and his hopes grew with each inching step he took. He was two feet away from the door when it happened.

The wall gave way.

Despite his best efforts, Mulder shut his eyes, and cried out more in surprise than fear. He felt himself spun forward in a different direction. He turned in an effort to go back the way he thought he came and discovered he couldn't. He was facing a wall; that he could plainly see.

It was at that moment he realized he could see everything around him, and quite clearly.

He wasn't in the watery cave anymore, but in a well-lit corridor. The corridor looked as if it was a recent addition to the castle, or at least a refurbished part of the maze that probably existed throughout out the edifice. Mulder walked carefully down the long passageway, his eyes alert for any differences or indentations in the walls. There was a door at the end of the corridor - a door without a doorknob, as he soon found out. Undaunted, Mulder felt around the molding, looking for a latch or a spring or something....

As soon as he found it, the door sprung open. He cautiously stepped to the other side.

He knew where he was immediately as soon as he entered the room. He was in the great room that stood between the courtyard and the dining hall. He remembered he and Scully had stood in this room, waiting to be seated for the dinner that had been held in Phoebe's honor. Had it really only been a matter of days since then? It felt as though it had been years, but Mulder knew better. And he knew he didn't have time to reminisce.

The hallway he had left must have been some kind of service exit or servant corridor, and where there was one, there was bound to be another. Mulder scanned the room, looking for a door, any door, that would lead him further in his quest, and he found one. 

He opened it, and stepped inside.


	44. The Hourglass

"First, do no harm."

The doctor stood over the woman, staring at her. In her catatonic state, she was unresponsive, not caring how long he stood there and stared at her. Not caring how long he thought. And he thought about his actions for a long time. The syringe was full and ready with a double dose - 400 ccs- of the analytic histamine she had been taking throughout her treatment. He knew it was too much. He knew what it could do. He knew that it could kill her.

"First, do no harm."

He remembered someone had given him a copy of the Hippocratic oath, framed beautifully to hang in his office next to his degree; a degree he worked odd jobs and late nights to get. His family was proud of him. They knew he would do great things and stop great suffering in the world. He pledged his life and skill to do so, and his family taught him that his word was his bond.

Yet here he stood, needle in hand, ready to do harm to someone helpless to stop him.

"First, do no harm."

He knew better. When had it come to this? When had become such a coward? And why did this man, this evil man without regard for human life, have the power to make him forget the oath he took as a doctor? He knew the answer. Because he gave it to him; he handed that power over to him willingly and without a fight. He had kowtowed to a bully. He had even scared him to the point that he carried a gun; a man of medicine carried a weapon that ended lives. His medical bag open, he could see the gun he carried as protection against this evil man, just in case.

"First, do no harm."

He knew what he had to do; it was what was right, and not what had been ordered to do by a bully. He put down the syringe, and pulled the gun out of the bag. He held it for a moment, then sat it down on the table. Satisfied with his decision, he left the room to gather his thoughts.

****************************************************************

"Meena, it's time."

The young girl took Meena gently by the arm. Meena looked around at everybody, and smiled. She knew them all now, she knew their faces. There was Uncle Bill and Uncle Frokee; Uncles Langly and Byers. Grandma Maggie - her mother's mother. The beautiful baby boy she loved so much, and the face she held so dear. Dana Katherine Scully Mulder, her mother. She remembered them all, she remembered who she was. It was all becoming clear.

There was one face, however, she couldn't see, and it upset her.

The young girl knew Meena was upset, and took her by the hand. "It's alright," she said gently. "When it's time, you will know. But you must go now. You are in danger. And they need you. You have to help them. You have to go back."

"Yes," Meena replied. "It's time."

The doctor had left the room when his patient's eyes registered the first flickers of recognition. He had traveled far down the corridor in thought, and did realize he had strayed so far.

By the time he made it back to his patient's room, she and his gun had disappeared. 

***********************************************************************

"Drew! Drew, stay with us!"

The blood that rushed to Scully's head now pounded unmercifully in her ears, just as it did in the ears of the two who shared her fate. She made every effort to relieve that pressure by curling up at the waist, trying to get her head at a level that would reverse the blood flow, but the strain on her lower back was too much and she would have to hang back down, upside down, over the water. Krycek tried the same thing as well, and with each violent jerk of his body the chain that held him suspended over the rising water snapped and popped in syncopation. Both Scully and Krycek fought wildly for their lives. Drew, however, seemed to have given up, and Scully knew that if he lost consciousness, if he gave up, the heavy rush of blood to the brain would kill him. 

"Come on, Drew! Fight!" Scully screamed. Krycek picked up where Scully left off in her efforts. "Damnit, Drew! Do what I say!" Krycek's order in that tone of voice was just 

enough to bring Drew back from the brink. "Or what, DAD?!" he shot back. "Or what? Just what the hell do you plan to do now that you couldn't do, that you didn't do, twenty-four years ago?" 

"That's it," Krycek encouraged him. "Get mad, get angry, get pissed off...." 

"No, Krycek!" Scully screamed. "His blood pressure is dangerously high..." 

"Stay out of this, Scully!" Krycek demanded. "Will you please think about your son's welfare?!" Scully retorted. Drew's comment stopped the conversation between the two enemies. 

"Oh yes, DAD; please do!" He continued, seizing the chance to say all those things he'd wanted to say to the man who deserted him his whole life. "Seeing as you never gave a damn about my welfare before, I would be highly interested in seeing if you even know what that is. But how could you," he sputtered angrily, "when you don't have any IDEA what my life has been like. Do you have any idea what its like for a five year old to have the only love he's ever known, the only parents he's ever known snatched away from him? What its like to be bounced around, living in foster homes with people who hated my very presence, never belonging anywhere? What I would have given to know that somebody actually cared about my welfare - something you could have given me - but you didn't even bother to crawl out from under whatever rock you called home to look for me. It never mattered to you whether I existed or not." 

"That's not true," Krycek replied. 

"Piss off!" Drew shouted back. Krycek was undeterred. "I DID care. I wanted to know who you were the minute, the very second I knew you existed. And whether you choose to believe it or not, I did try to find you. I spent the first five years of your life looking for you, searching for you, and when I found you, he made sure I couldn't get to you at all. You want someone to blame, blame the man who was just in here; blame the man who's responsible for the situation we're in now. But you can't blame me for not trying." 

"No," Drew replied when Krycek finished. "I blame you for not trying hard enough." 

*******************************************************************

Although it was not easy, Phoebe's swim though the murky depths of the moat was not as difficult as Mulder's had been. She had the luxury of constant oxygen, supplied by the air tank she carried on her back, and unlike Mulder, she was not swimming injured. The currents were rough, but she fought against them.

Phoebe soon saw light pierce the dark depths of the moat, and she swam towards it. Her head broke the surface, and she discovered she was in some sort of a cave or alcove. A naked bulb cast a dim circle of light on the floor, hardly enough for one to judge the content or circumstances of their surroundings. Phoebe soon remedied the situation by pulling the waterproof flashlight from her utility belt, and turning it on.

The brilliant light of the flashlight bounced off the walls and the ceilings, and Phoebe realized that she was in the bowels of the castle. She put the flashlight in her mouth, swam over to the ledge, and pulled herself out. Her bare feet squished on the layer of mold and algae that had grown on the floor, the dampness of the cave providing the perfect breeding ground for such organisms. Repulsed, she shuddered for a second, then pulled her wits about her. "Get ahold of yourself, old girl," she thought as she removed her oxygen tank. It was when she sat it on the ground that she noticed them.

Footprints. 

She followed the set of footprints to the wall, where she found another clue.

It was a pair of shoes; shoes she immediately recognized from earlier that day.

They were Mulder's.

She lifted the flashlight so that it shone against the wall. The same algae-mold organism had grown on the walls of the cave, and it was smeared as though someone had slid across it, hugging the wall very tight with their body. But Phoebe couldn't understand why at first; as the light bounced about, she could see that there was plenty of room to move about as one wished. The investigator in her quickly came up with an answer. Without a flashlight or any additional light, Mulder didn't know what lay beyond the small ring of light cast by the single naked bulb in the cave. That's why he hugged the wall; he didn't know how much room he had.

Phoebe walked down the corridor, shining the light ahead of her on the floor as she went. After a few minutes, she saw a door at the end of the corridor, and what looked to be light shining through the bottom of it. The door was the only entrance and exit she saw. 

She didn't have the benefit of Mulder's earlier discovery, the secret door hidden in the castle's stone wall. 

Phoebe stood there for a second, trying to figure out what she would do next. As she made her plan of attack, she stopped a moment to listen. Whatever she heard was coming from the other side of the door. She cautiously put her ear against the door to listen.

It sounded every bit like running water coming from the other side of the door. 

************************************************************

Scully continued to try to escape during the heated father and son exchange. She was getting dizzy, very dizzy, and it was getting harder to remain conscious with each passing minute. She strained at the binds of the straight jacket, vaguely remembering that this was the key to escaping the confines of this particular garment. Her uncle, the magician, told her this when she was a very young girl, just as he told her the secret of making a coin appear magically from someone's ear. She had plenty of opportunities to use the coin trick in mixed company, but somehow her day-to-day activities had never called upon her to break free from a straight jacket until now.

Scully continued to push out with her forearms, wriggling and twisting every way she could to loose the binds that held her. Was it working? She couldn't tell. Her mind was beginning to cloud over. She had to try and buy herself more time, one last time. She curled upwards from her waist, bringing her head up just enough to again relieve some of the pressure on her head. As she came up, her hair fell down to the side of her face. It was then that she noticed it.

The ends of her hair were wet. Soaking wet. Which meant only one thing.

The water level was rapidly rising.

The panic rose in Scully's throat, and she struggled furiously to try and break free of the straightjacket. Her body jerked and writhed and convulsed; she strained against the bindings again and again and again. Finally, something gave way.

A weak link in the chain that held her leather-bound ankles broke, and she fell, headfirst, into three feet of water.

***************************************************************************

He waited until the body fell to the floor before he lit his cigarette. Satisfied the bullet had found its mark, he put the gun back in his holster. It was amazing - all it took was one tiny little projectile hurled with great velocity at someone's head to stop them from breathing forever.

The man with the curly, black, salt-and-pepper hair took a long drag off his cigarette, and sighed. It was really rather becoming a nuisance. To say that he was annoyed when he came back to find the woman in the bed had not been given the injection was an understatement; to say that he was angry when the late doctor had no explanation as to where his patient was did not capture the essence of his feelings. Jeffrey Spender was pissed, and a bullet to the head of this incompetent medical professional seemed like the perfect solution.

"Why do I pay people to do things if I have to do everything myself?" he mused.

Spender wondered just how much money he had spent; not that money was an issue. He had more than enough. But he wondered, for example, just how many bullets he had fired in his life. What was the cost of that? He, of course, didn't count the toll on human life - he didn't have time to try and calculate what to him was of little consequence. Lives were not a measurable standard, but bullets....? He supposed it was much like buying cigarettes; a necessary evil. A part of doing business. He wasn't about to quit smoking, and he figured this wouldn't be the last person he would kill. He put the discussion on the subject out of his mind; right now, he had other questions.

Spender looked at the empty bed, at the indentation left by its by its previous occupant. Where had she gone? Or rather, where had the doctor hidden her? It was highly unlikely to him that a woman who had been catatonic a while ago would simply rise from her bed and walk. She wasn't Lazarus. But he still didn't have an explanation.

"Well," the man with the curly salt-and-pepper hair thought to himself. "I guess I'll just have to look for her till I find her."

He looked down at the ground just in time to see the widening circle of blood before it touched his shoe. He quickly drew his foot back to avoid it getting soiled.

"Shoes are expensive," he thought to himself.

Spender took one last drag off his cigarette, dropped it on the stone floor, and crushed it under his toe. He took the full syringe with him, and set off in search of his prey.

**********************************************************************

The sharp jolt to Scully's head almost caused her to loose consciousness, but she fought against it. She somehow managed to inhale before she hit the water, and had a small reserve of air left. The water level was rising rapidly, and she knew she had precious little time to try and get herself upright.

Scully tried to wriggle along the floor in an effort to find something she could push against, to try and find a way to pull herself up. She finally found that something after a few minutes; it felt like the leg of a table. Scully's plan was to turn herself in the water so that her back was against this leg; from there, she might be able to scoot herself up the leg to an upright position.

As she began to turn herself into position, she realized fate had other plans in store.

Her straight jacket was caught on something, and she couldn't move.

****************************************************************************

As Phoebe stood in the darkened corridor, she heard what sounded like rushing water on the other side of the door. "But that's impossible..." she thought to herself. "Is it some kind of pumping station? Well, old girl," Phoebe decided, "Only one way to find out."

Phoebe reached for the lock kit on her utility belt, and pulled out the pick she needed for the door. Steadying the flashlight in her mouth, she began to pick the lock; the door opened after a few seconds. Before she went inside, she put the kit back on her utility belt, and removed a large knife from the holster on her belt.

She had no idea what awaited her inside, but she wasn't at all prepared for what she saw.

Phoebe stood at the top of the stairs, and looked into what had been an old dungeon. She didn't know how many stairs there were into the room because the bottom steps were submerged by five feet or more of water. She couldn't see the source of the water, she didn't know where it came from. But she wasn't concerned so much with that as she was by what 

she saw suspended upside down from the ceiling....

...Kyrcek and a young man who looked like a younger version of him hanging by his side.

And they were not moving.

"Good God!" Phoebe thought to herself. She raced down the stairs, certain she had to try and save them, uncertain if she had gotten to them in time. As soon as she hit the water, the sound of splashing water snapped Krycek back into consciousness.

"Krycek!" Phoebe exclaimed as she waded over to him.

"Help my son; please help my son..."

Phoebe looked around for something, anything that would allow her to help the two men. As she scanned the room, she saw the third chain that hung from the ceiling, a broken link dangling from the end.

"Krycek, where's Scully?" she screamed over the rushing water.

"She should be next to us..."

Suddenly, Phoebe realized what had happened, and submerged herself under the water.

**********************************************************************

Scully made her peace with her fate. 

She struggled as hard as she could to free herself from whatever held her submerged in the murky water, but it was no use. She was tired; she didn't have the strength. The little air she held in her lungs wasn't enough.

"Drowning is easy; all you have to do is to stop struggling, and breathe in. Deep."

The scenes in her life flashed passed her eyes, one by one. Her mother; her sister; her father. Family, friends. The first time she saw Mulder. The time she held her daughter in her arms. 

Her wedding. 

"Drowning is easy; all you have to do is to stop struggling, and breathe in. Deep."

Where had she heard that? Oh, yes. That cocktail party she dragged Mulder to in Annapolis, was it? It wasn't important now...

"Drowning is easy; all you have to do is to stop struggling, and breathe in. Deep."

What had Mulder said? Oh yes. Drowning was only easy if you had lost the will to live; if you had nothing or no one to live for. And she did. She wanted so much to live for him, for her daughter. But she knew her time was running out.

"I'm so sorry, Mulder," Scully thought to herself. "I'm so sorry..."

********************************************************************

Phoebe saw Scully a few feet away from her, and quickly made her way over to her. She was in a straight jacket, and her feet were bound at the ankles with a heavy leather strap. The flashlight danced about the water, it caught Scully's eyes, pleading for her help. Phoebe nodded her assurance that she would get her out alive.

The straight jacket was caught on a hook that had been screwed into the floor, making it impossible for Scully to move. Phoebe went behind Scully, inserting the blade of the knife between Scully's back and the main strap of the straight jacket. Although she worked quickly, Phoebe felt as though time was standing still. Her lungs were about to burst, but she didn't dare raise her head to take a breath.

When Scully and the others were free, they would all take a breath together.

The strap finally broke loose, and Phoebe quickly went to work on the strap around Scully's ankles. The ankle strap proved easier to cut, and Phoebe was able to help Scully out of the straight jacket. Phoebe dragged Scully up to the surface, and both women took huge gulps of air as soon as they broke the surface.

"The room.... Booby-trapped.....Must get out soon..."

"I'll take care of things here.....Mulder..... Meena need you," Phoebe replied.

"But I should stay and help," Scully insisted. Phoebe cut her off. "Your place is with Mulder and your daughter, Scully; we'll be alright here. They are somewhere in the castle, and won't get out without your help. You must listen to me Scully - that's an order. We'll catch up."

Phoebe handed the flashlight to Scully, and pointed to the door she came through. "I'd start up there, Scully."

Scully looked at the woman who had saved her life. "Thank you, Phoebe."

"You're a very lucky woman, Scully."

The water was up to Scully's neck as she half-waded, half-swam her way to the stone steps. She ran up the stairs and disappeared behind the door.

"Now," Phoebe said. "Let's work on getting out of here."

Unbeknownst to Phoebe and the others, there was a small lever hidden in the wall that had slowly been moving up, inch, by inch, as the water level rose in the room. She never saw it; she never knew where it was....

"Save my son!" Krycek screamed at the top of his lungs. "I will, Krycek," replied Phoebe. 

"Just give me a moment."

The small lever hidden in the wall moved up another few inches. She never saw it; she never knew where it was.

"What's your son's name?" Phoebe asked. "Drew," Krycek replied. Phoebe waded over to Krycek's son, calling his name as she went.

"Drew?! I need you to stay with us, Drew. I'm here to help."

The small lever hidden in the wall moved up another few inches, and clicked into place. She never saw it, she never heard it, she never knew where it was.

Phoebe stood up to try and climb onto something to reach Drew, and that's when it happened.

The circular blade flew out from its hiding place, decapitating Phoebe instantly. Another blade flew from the opposite side of the room and sliced through the torsos of the two men hanging from the ceiling. When the water reached the electrical element, it didn't matter that thousands of bolts jumped through the water.

All three people were already dead. 


	45. Reverberation

Scully heard the heavy wooden door close behind her, and found herself in a dark, dank passageway. Out of instinct, she turned to go back the way she came, but couldn't; the door was locked. As she pressed her ear against the door, she could still hear the sound of rushing water on the other side. She almost drowned in that water and would have were it not for Phoebe. Phoebe, the woman she had resented from the moment she met her. Phoebe, the woman who made no attempt to disguise her thinly-veiled overtures towards her husband. Phoebe, the woman who'd saved her life. 

And she was on the other side of that door, in the rising water, trying to save two lives. Alone.

She should have stayed; she should have insisted she stay despite Phoebe's demands. A pang of guilt spread through Scully's gut as she banged on the heavy wooden door. "Phoebe!" she yelled, her voice reverberating through the stone corridor. "Phoebe, let me back in!" Scully banged repeatedly on the door until her hand was sore; she called out until her throat ached, but it was no use. Phoebe never answered. 

It wouldn't be until much later that Scully would know why.

Scully shone the flashlight around the enclosure. As the light played against the stone walls, she could see where the mold and algae had been disturbed; smeared against the wall as if someone had pressed their back against it as they moved along. She followed the smears with her flashlight until they stopped at a place just beside the wooden door. Scully reached out to examine the wall. The moment her fingers applied the slightest bit of pressure, the wall yielded and gave way.

She found herself in a corridor that looked like a service or delivery entrance. She walked for what seemed like and eternity before she reached the end of the hallway, but she finally found herself standing in front of another door. She carefully studied it, looking for a handle or any other any visible means of entry. She felt as high along the molding as she could, looking for a spring or a release or a catch, but couldn't find one. The only place she hadn't touched was the place she couldn't reach; the last piece of molding high up on the door jamb.

Scully sank to the floor in desperation. She couldn't believe, she _wouldn't_ believe she had come this far only to get caught between heaven and hell. She leaned against the door as tears began to pool in her eyes. She rested her head against the door and pounded the door in frustration, "Please, God; please..." she cried.

To her surprise and gratitude, the door opened, and she tumbled inside.

Scully stood up and searched the room, looking for a clue or a landmark to jar her memory. It was when she saw the fireplace that she realized where she was. She stood in the great room between the courtyard and the dining hall; the place where she and Mulder waited until they were seated for Phoebe's banquet. Scully thought about that night, about the love in Mulder's eyes as he looked at her in the foyer at Brittlegate Manor; the feel of his arms around her as they danced. Of how they found each other that night after drifting so far apart. It was the memory of that night, of that moment on the terrace, of his face as he kissed her that kept her going; it was the fear that she wouldn't get to her daughter in time that fueled her sense of urgency. 

There was a door that stood next to the doors leading to the terrace. She walked over to it and stopped, placing her hand on the cool, smooth brass handle. "Please..." she whispered as she turned the handle. The handle responded, opening the door and leading her into another room.

She was in another corridor, and she could tell by one glance that it was completely different from the one behind the damp stone wall. It looked like part of the castle's living quarters, complete with decorative wall sconces and carved wooden doors. In the middle of the hallway, there was a mahogany side table against the wall with a vase of red roses, perfectly arranged in anticipation of an unknown guest. 

Scully stood in the middle of the hallway, uncertain where she should go and where she should look for Mulder. She didn't know which of the doors led to her daughter, or even if 

her daughter was still alive.

....And then she heard the gunshot. 

************************************************************************* 

When he left the dining hall, Mulder could tell he was in another hallway, but unlike the corridors he'd taken to get here, this hallway looked like part of the castle's living quarters. Decorative wall sconces hung at strategically marked places, and in the middle of the corridor against the wall was a huge mahogany side table with a vase full of lilies of the valley. Had it been any other time and under a different set of circumstances, this part of the castle could have passed for a lovely bed and breakfast or a five star hotel. But this wasn't any other time, and Mulder had other things and people to worry about.

Mulder looked at the series of carved wooden doors that led up and down the corridor, uncertain which one he should choose. Scully could be behind any one of the doors, or none of them at all. In a sense, finding Scully in Antarctica had been easier; he had a set of coordinates, he found the glass transport coffin that had held her.

His heart stopped when he thought of that coffin in the spaceship and of when he found her clothes and her cross. Despite his best intentions, he had felt certain that she was dead. He had the same feelings now, again despite his best intentions.

No;" he said to himself. "Not dead. She's not dead."

He decided to start with the last door at the intersection where the hallway met a narrow passageway. He placed his hand on the doorknob...

...And then he heard the gunshot.

***********************************************************************

When she came to, Meena didn't spend much time trying to get her bearings. She didn't know where she was and she didn't know exactly why she was there, but she knew couldn't stay in that room. The sense of impending danger was too strong for her to ignore, and she knew she didn't have much time.

Meena's legs were wobbly when she first stood up, and it took a few minutes for her legs to support her weight. She relied heavily on her arms, using them the hold her upright as she held onto anything and everything until she could walk steadily on her own. It was when she grabbed the nightstand that she saw it. A gun, left out in plain sight next to a medical bag and a full syringe. The sense of dread told Meena that whoever owned the gun and the syringe would be back, probably to use one or the other on her, if not both. She picked up the gun even though she did not know how to use it and bought it with her. She hoped the sight of it would be intimidating enough to protect her.

Meena stumbled down the hallway to its end, past the mahogany side table with a vase filled with gladiolas, and made a left into an intersecting passageway. Her next thought was to find her son, but she didn't know where to look. She didn't know where to begin until it hit her, and she remembered.

Her son was dead. 

The fiery car crash came back to Meena in a wave of sorrow and guilt, and a lump formed in her throat. But then another image appeared to her; that of a hospital and of her holding a baby in her arms. Other images appeared to her: a funeral, a small white coffin, her family, her mother...

Her mother. And then she remembered she had died as well, gone in an instant in the same conflagration that had taken her son, Drew... It was all too much; it was all too overwhelming...

It was when she heard the gunshot that Meena started to run.

********************************************************** 

It was when he heard the gunshot that Mulder started to run.

He made a left into the passageway, reaching for his gun out of habit. He almost stopped when he realized his weapon was of no use, damaged when he was submerged in the murky waters of the moat. "Shit!" he muttered under his breath, but it didn't matter. If he had to, he'd use his bare hands or anything else available to save his wife.

Mulder ran as fast as he could, pushing his battered and beaten body past the limits of normal endurance. It was a while before he found another break in the passage way, and he almost passed the next hallway. But it was the whiteness of the gladiolas that caught his eye. Mulder doubled back and proceeded slowly down the hallway, past the mahogany side table and vase filled with gladiolas. It was when he reached the end of the table that he saw the opened door. Mulder reached for his gun anyway, even though he knew it would not fire. If he had to, he'd use the butt of it to beat whoever had harmed his wife into a bloody mass. When he stood in the doorway, he realized he wouldn't have to. Mulder knew the man on the floor was dead; he could see the single gunshot wound to the head and the blood as it pooled in a halo around his head and upper torso. His mouth was open as if he tried to plead for his life, or send a prayer up to heaven for his soul. 

As soon as Mulder noticed the hospital bed, his heart began to race. It was obvious that someone had been in the bed not too long ago. His thoughts instantly turned to Scully, and a lump formed in his throat. As his eyes traveled the length of the bed, he saw a chart hanging on the footboard. He picked it up and began to read. It wasn't until he saw the name that he knew Scully wasn't the patient.

"Mulder, Melissa Wilhelmina; DOB 05/15/2001."

Mulder threw the chart on the bed and frantically searched for other clues. He didn't find anything, didn't turn up anything until he moved the doctor's medical bag. A small vial began to roll off of the table, and he caught it just before it reached the edge. He examined it closely, and finally discovered what it was.

It was the analytic histamine that had been used to erase Meena's memory and brainwash her bit by bit. And it was empty.

********************************************************************** 

It was when she heard the gunshot that Scully started to run.

The only weapon Scully had was the flashlight, and she wielded it like a club. It didn't matter to her that it could be Spender; it didn't matter to her that he was armed. If she had to, she'd rip him apart with her bare hands. 

It took an eternity to make it down the long passageway to the next hallway, but when she came to the next hallway, she heard it. She stopped for a second, straining to listen over the sound of her rapid breathing and pounding heart. After a few seconds, she heard it again. Scully doubled back to the hallway and listened for the sound. She followed it down the hallway, past the mahogany side table with the vase filled with lilies of the valley. It was when she reached the end of the table that she discovered the source of the sound. It came from the other side of the door, and the sound got louder when she stood in front of the carved wooden door and opened it. 

It was a baby, and in an instant, Scully knew it was her grandchild.

Scully walked over to the crib and picked up her grandson. It was evident that he had not been changed in quite some time, and Scully doubted he had been fed for a number of hours. She looked around the room, taking note that it wasn't even a proper nursery. There was a changing table with one pair of diapers on it, the only other piece of furniture beside the crib. The bast&rd hadn't even gotten formula or baby wipes. Scully's blood began to boil, and she swore she would rip the skin off Spender's body, strip by agonizing strip when she caught him.

Scully quickly changed the baby as best she could, and held him as she stripped down his crib. She turned over the mattress, silently thankful that it was at least had a waterproof cover. Then Scully did the hardest thing she ever did in her life.

She put the baby back in the crib, and prepared to leave.

"Oh, my God," she said as she stroked her grandson's cheek. "Grandma doesn't want to leave you, but she'll be back, I promise. She and mommie will be back soon." Scully bent down, and kissed her grandson's forehead. 

"I love you," she whispered.

Scully closed the door behind her.

******************************************************************************** 

Mulder placed the vial in his pocket, and left the room. He ran his fingers through his hair, desperately trying to figure out his next move. It was obvious that Meena had to be transported to Sternwood; she was unresponsive and unable to move when he left her at the hospital. The guilt Mulder felt was overwhelming. He had left his daughter alone and unprotected, and the evil that dogged him snatched her away. This was his punishment. This was his fault. He was to blame. 

And if his payment meant he had to sacrifice his life to save hers, he would do it.

Mulder stood in the hallway and looked to his left. It dead-ended into another hidden door, and Mulder had no idea where it went. He could go back the way he came, but he didn't know if that would lead him to his daughter. He looked to his right as he plotted his next move. 

It was as he stood in front of the side table that he saw her.

********************************************************************** 

Scully walked quickly down the passageway, her heart growing heavier with each step. She didn't want to leave her grandson, but it was the only thing she could do. She didn't know what she would find; she knew the danger she faced; and to take him with her would be foolhardy as well as dangerous. She hoped and prayed she would find Meena and her husband, or at least kill Spender before he found them. All of their lives depended on it

Scully didn't know where to turn when she reached the end of the hallway. If she turned right, she would only go back the way she came, and away from the direction of the gunshot. If she went towards to gunshot, there was no guarantee that Spender wasn't waiting there with a loaded weapon. He would take her down in a heartbeat, and she knew it. But she also knew her daughter could be there, injured and waiting for her help. Scully did the only thing she could do.

She went in the direction of the gunshot.

Scully carefully walked down the passageway, looking for the next hallway. She saw a break in the wall and walked towards it.

It was when she looked to her left that she saw him.

Mulder stood there, transfixed as if he saw an apparition. Scully mouthed his name in a whisper, almost as if she were afraid to say it aloud and he disappear. It was Scully who moved first, running down the hallway until she stood in front of him; until she was close enough to see the tears in his eyes.

"Scully...?"

It wasn't until she touched his face that he knew she was real. He dissolved into her and she into him in a reunion they thought would never come. 

"Mulder, you're hurt..."

"I'm alright, Scully; My God; your head... The bump on your head..."

"It'll be fine.."

They held each other again, then broke away to look at each other. The reunion would have to wait until they were all safe, and they both knew it.

"Mulder..." Scully began. 

"Meena's here, Scully."

"I know. And so's the baby.."

"Where, Scully?"

"The next hall over. We have to find Spender before he comes back; before he gets to Meena. He's going to kill her; he could have killed her already."

"That wasn't the gunshot, Scully. He killed somebody else; it looks like it may have been the doctor he hired...."

"Mulder, that doctor was supposed to give Meena a double dose of the analytic histamine in order to speed her memory loss. It could kill her Mulder."

The look on Mulder's face told her he'd made a frightening discovery.

"Mulder tell me. Please tell me; I need to know...Mulder PLEASE...?!"

"She wasn't there; she wasn't in the room."

The empty vial pressed against Mulder's leg through his pants pocket. He didn't have the heart to tell her that it might be too late. 

****************************************************************************** 

Meena's steps were surer now, her legs growing stronger with each step. She ran as fast as she could, searching for any means of escape. After the longest eternity, she saw an open stairwell at the end of the passage way, next to a window that was across from the last hallway. Meena leaned on the windowsill when she reached it as she tried to catch her breath. She knew she shouldn't stop, she knew that she should keep going, but she was so tired....Meena looked at the window in a frantic attempt to see if she could jump. Through the flashes of lightening, wind and rain, she saw the swirling waters of the moat below. It was as she stood there, contemplating her fate, when she heard him.

"Hello, Meena."


	46. Lost Relations

A panicked Meena turned around to face the man with the curly, black, salt and pepper hair. He stood there, a gun in one hand and a syringe in the other.

"You look frightened, my dear; let me help you. Let me help you forget what's troubling you." 

"Stay away from me; I swear to God, I will kill you."

Meena held the gun in front of her as she pressed her body into the windowsill. The man with the curly, black, salt-and-pepper hair moved towards her, clucking his tounge in mock reproach at Meena's response. 

"Now Meena; is that any way to talk to family?"

"You're no family of mine." 

"I'm more family than you know," he replied.

Meena extended her arms fully now, her finger inching slowly towards the trigger. "Stay away from me, you sonofabitch! I will shoot you," she said, "without hesitation, I will pull the trigger and blow you straight into hell." "Put the gun down, my dear," he replied. 

"You won't shoot me. I only want to help. My only concern is for your well being. You're really not yourself right now..." 

"Shut up!" The slight quiver in Meena's voice betrayed her false sense of bravado; a betrayal her persecutor used to his full advantage. 

"You're tired now, my dear. You need rest. You've been through a very trying ordeal, and quite frankly, I'm amazed you know where you are; who you are...." 

"I know exactly who I am." 

"I'm afraid you don't my dear. I can't believe it was never explained to you, your importance in the grand scheme of things. The importance of you and your son, and what your DNA can bring to the world. You must trust me, my dear..."

Despite her best efforts, a tear ran down Meena's face at the mention of her child, and her hands begin to tremble. She didn't want to show him this, she didn't want to show him her vulnerability, but it was too late.

"I never have trusted you. I never will."

"I assure you my intentions are entirely honorable, my dear." He lowered the gun, placing it in his pocket. "I assure you that my intentions truly are for your best welfare. I cannot help you unless you let me help you." Meena stood her ground. "I don't want your help," she said through clenched teeth. "I want you to die."

Meena pulled the trigger. The only sound she heard was the clicking of an empty gun.

"You won't shoot me, Meena," he slowly replied. "You can't. Not without these..."

Jeffrey Spender, the man with the curly, salt and pepper hair, pulled two gun clips out of his jacket pocket. He had taken as an afterthought when he discovered them in the doctor's medical bag. 

"These, my dear, are what make the gun go, 'Bang!'" 

********************************************************************************

Mulder stroked Scully's cheek with the back of his hand, and let his fingers trail down her neck to the gold cross that hung around it. "We had faith before that our daughter would be alright, Scully" he said gently. "We have to have that same faith now."

Mulder turned to walk down the passageway. "Stay with the baby, Scully. I'm going to look for Meena." Scully started to follow him. "I'm coming with you," she replied, but Mulder stopped her. 

"No, Scully..."

"Mulder, you're hurt. You can't do this by yourself."

"I have to, Scully. You have to stay with the baby. In case.... In case we don't make it back. You're the only family our grandson will have should something go wrong. Besides, I've been looking forward to ripping Spender a new one for quite some time."

"Well, make it fast, Mulder, because I'm coming after you if you don't"

Mulder kissed his wife, the pressure of her lips against his giving him the strength to go on. 

"I'm going to get Meena," he replied. "We'll be back."

************************************************************************ 

Meena screamed but she couldn't hear the sound. She felt the air expelled from her lungs as it traveled through her throat past her lips and out into the environment, but there was no sound. Her eyes searched frantically for a place to run, a place to hide, and he eyes fell upon the open stairwell.

"What do they say in the doctor's office?" her persecutor said, "This will only hurt a minute, my dear, and then blissful nothingness..."

He reached out and grabbed Meena by the wrist, dropping the gun clips on the floor. Meena dropped the empty gun and used her free hand to scratch bloody, red tracks across his face. He never let go of the syringe, raising it in the air as he aimed for Meena's arm. Just before he made his mark, Meena saw her chance and took it. She kicked him hard in the groin, and ran into the open stairwell.

The voice she lost came back to her, and she screamed.

"It was only a minor setback," he thought. "She'll realize that once she gets to the top of the stairs."

He took his time, slowly climbing the stone steps one after another. It was only a matter of time, and there was really no need for him to rush. She would eventually see that she only ran from the inevitable; she would eventually see that she was only delaying her fate by trying to escape it.

He found her where he knew she would be. The door at the top of the stairs banged against the doorframe as the wind repeatedly opened and slammed it shut. The top landing was wet from the rain that blew in, and the thunder reverberated throughout the stairwell. She stood outside in the elements; the rain soaking her skin and hair, and the wind whipping her skin until it was almost raw.

There was nowhere for her to go, and they knew it. They stood outside in the middle of the highest turret at the highest point of Sternwood Castle, and there was nowhere to go but down.

"Alright, Meena," yelled the man who would be her doom. "Enough! You have wasted enough of my time, and I am loosing patience."

"Accept your fate, Meena. Accept it now."

"HELP ME!!! PLEASE GOD, HELP ME!!"

********************************************************************** 

Meena's blood-curdling screams tore through Mulder and ripped his soul apart. Had he wings at that moment to fly to her side and defend her, he would have; had he the magic of Merlin at his fingertips, he would have spirited his family to safety. He would have moved the earth and the moon, the mountains and hills to get to his daughter, but he had none of these things, and It ripped his heart to shreds.

Mulder frantically ran down the passageway, searching for the source of the sound; searching for his daughter. When he reached the end of the passageway, he saw the gun and the two gun clips. Mulder picked up the weapon and loaded it with one of the clips, placing the other round of bullets in his pocket. To his left was yet another hallway; to his right was a window. Ahead of him was an open stairwell. None of these things provided an answer; none of these things told him where his daughter was.....

There was a sudden bang, like a door had been thrown open against a wall, hard, and then he heard it.

*********************************************************************** 

"PLEASE GOD, STAY AWAY FROM ME!!!"

The sound reverberated in the stairwell, and traveled down, down, down to Mulder's ears. It was the clue he wanted, it was the clue he needed, and he followed his daughter's voice into the stairwell.

"PLEASE GOD, LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"

Jeffrey Spender, the man with the curly, black, salt and pepper hair, walked toward her. His hand held the syringe poised and ready for the shot. He had made up his mind; he would not be deterred, and this ordeal, this nuisance would be over in a matter of minutes. he didn't care if it worked, and at that moment, he didn't care if Meena lived or died. He had what he wanted in her son; he had what he needed in her son's DNA. Whether the mother lived or died was of precious little consequence to him.

For each step her enemy took toward her, Meena took a step back. She knew that there was no where to go; she knew that there was nowhere run. Darkness was all she could see as she looked behind her past the turret walls; darkness was all that surrounded her. And evil approached her with swift and deadly steps.

"SaintMichaeltheArchangeldefendusinbattle..." 

....Meena recited the prayer she learned from her mother; the prayer her grandmother promised would protect her in her hour of urgent need... 

"Bemyprotectionagainstthewickednessandsnaresofthedevil...."

Lightening flashed through the sky, and a clap of thunder frightened Meena and knocked her to her knees....

"MayGodrebukehimIhumblydoprayanddothouoprinceoftheheavenlyhostbythepowerofGod..."

Another lightening flash tore across the sky as Meena pushed herself backwards across the ground...

"CastintohellsatanandallhisevilspiritswhowandertheworldfortheruinofsoulsAmen."

The flash of lightening illuminated her persecutor's face as he reached down and grabbed her arm. He yanked her up hard as his hand left bruises on her wrist. "GET UP!" he spat at her, twisting her arm behind her. He pulled her against him hard, and his harsh voice echoed in her ear.

"Get ready, Meena. Get ready NOW...."

"GET AWAY FROM HER, SPENDER. NOW."

*************************************************************************** 

The next flash of lightening illuminated Mulder as he stood in the doorway. Spender turned around, his arm wrapped around Meena's neck in a chokehold.

"Long time, no see, brother dear," Spender replied. "So glad you could make it. You're just in time to say good-bye."

Mulder looked at Meena, but he couldn't tell in the dim light if she recognized him or not. He didn't know if she recognized him as her father, or as the man she had seen in Harrods and in Notting Hill. He just didn't know, but he knew she was scared. He could see it in her face and hear it in her soft, frightened cries.

Mulder held his stance as he pointed the weapon at Spender. "Wish I could say I was sorry to see you go," Mulder replied "but, actually, I don't, and I'm not." 

"Delusional as usual, Mulder" Spender replied. "I'm not going anywhere. Not when I've got so much to look forward to. The fruition of so much work over such a long period of time; it's quite exciting, actually. My only regret is the one person who would have truly appreciated all this isn't here to see it." 

Mulder's stomach turned on reflex at the thought of CGB Spender. "I wouldn't worry," Mulder shot back. "I'm sure Hell has cable; maybe you can get CNN to carry it." 

Spender moved the needle closer to Meena's arm. "Don't do it, Spender; I'll blow your ass straight back into Hell," warned Mulder. "You won't, Mulder," Spender answered. "You can't take the shot. You shoot me, you shoot your daughter. You blow me straight to hell, I take your daughter along with me; it's as simple as that."

Mulder knew Spender was right. The only way he would get a clear shot at he nemesis was to get his daughter out of the line of fire, but Spender's chokehold on Meena prevented any chance of that. He could blow out Spender's arm, but it probably wouldn't prevent him from giving Meena the analytic histamine. His hands were tied; he knew it, and so did Spender.

"So tell me, Mulder," Spender sneered. "How long has it been since you lost someone close to you? Samantha? Scully? You couldn't do anything then, and there's nothing you can do about it now."

Spender pulled his arm back to plunge the needle into Meena's arm; it was this flourish, this dramatic gesture, that gave Mulder the opportunity he needed. He knew it was a slim chance, but Mulder took his shot. The bullet tore through Spender's arm, causing him to drop the syringe. It rolled across the cobblestone floor through a weapon portal carved in the side of the turret, and fell into the moat below. When Spender realized what happened he screamed in anger and frustration.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Mulder was ready to take his next shot when the thing he feared the most happened with Spender's next words.

"SAY GOOD-BYE TO ALL HOPE, MULDER!"

Before Mulder could react, Spender pushed Meena out of the turret. Mulder heard the one word he hoped he would hear again... 

"DADDY....!"

.... and the one word he hoped to God he'd never hear in his life.

"NOOOO!"


	47. Recovery

At that moment, Mulder made it his personal mission to use every bullet in his gun and in his possession to blow Jeffrey Spender into tiny bits. He fired at every appendage, every body part, every inch of his body he could cover, and Spender's body jerked like a marionette on a string. It was when he stopped to load the second clip in his weapon that he felt the searing, hot pain in his right arm. Spender had somehow managed to pull his weapon and fire off a shot at Mulder, hitting him in the right bicep. Mulder remembered at the moment something he had heard a long, long time ago.

You can't kill the devil.

Mulder aimed his gun at Spender when it happened. A bolt of lightning tore through the night and struck Spender. The force of the lightning strike knocked Mulder to the ground, and tore the gun from his hands; that same lightning strike forced Spender out of the turret with tremendous force.

It had, in effect, blown Jeffrey Spender straight back into hell.

**************************************************************************

When Scully heard the first shot, it was as if she had been shot herself. She jerked upright and gripped the baby's crib. Her body shook with the second and third shots; and she was out of the baby's room and in the passageway when she heard the fourth and fifth shots. She ran; she ran faster than she ever had in life; she ran without regard for her own safety. She because she knew her husband was in trouble, and needed her. When Scully reached the end of the passageway, she didn't know where to turn. Ahead of her was an open stairwell, to her left was another hallway, and to her right was a window. It wasn't until she heard the last gunshot and the thunderclap that she knew where she needed to be.

Scully climbed slowly and cautiously up the stone steps. Her mind raced with thousands of possibilities and plans; of what she would do should she come face to face with Spender, of what she might see when she reached the top. She faced the possibility that her husband, daughter or both were dead.

She saw him as she rounded the bend in the stairs. Out of instinct, she reached for a gun that was not there, and when she realized her error, she froze. She didn't move until she heard him call her name.

"Scully..?"

He sat on the threshold between the door and the outside, the doorframe was the only thing that held him upright and steady. Between flashes of lightning, she could see the blood as it trickled slowly from a wound in his arm. Scully took the stairs two at a time until she reached him, kneeling down beside him to caress his face and gently touch his arm.

"Scully, I lost her...."

Mulder buried his head in Scully's shoulder and wept, choking on huge, wracking sobs as he gasped for air. The shock hit Scully like a blow to the head; she was dazed, she was speechless. The tears she tried to shed would not come. Mulder raised his head and took her face in his hands. 

"Scully..."

The pain in his face matched the pain in her heart, and they sat there, motionless. Unable to speak, unable to feel, unable to cry. It was as they sat there trying to grapple with the loss of their daughter that they heard it. It started faintly at first, then grew louder as they strained to hear what it was.

It was the sound of someone sobbing. It was the sound of someone crying, whimpering...

"Help me, please. Please..."

Mulder pulled himself up, and ran over to the ledge. Scully followed him, reaching the ledge a few split seconds after he did. With the next flash of lightning, they saw them.

A pair of hands,. Meena's hands, as she clung with all her might to the ledge.

Without hesitation, Mulder and Scully grabbed Meena's wrists. "It's alright, baby," Mulder said as he helped Scully pull their daughter up and over the ledge. "We're here; Momma and Daddy are here. We're not going to let you go."

"Momma?!" Meena said as they pulled her up. "Momma, is it you?"

"Yes, baby," Scully replied. "I'm here. I'm here."

When her feet touched to solid cobblestones, Meena collapsed into her father's arms. The man whose face she couldn't see; the last person she couldn't remember was finally as familiar to her as her own name.

"Daddy," she said softly. "Daddy..."

Mulder, Scully and Meena held each other and wept as the rain washed away their tears.

*************************************************************************** 

Lady Phoebe Elizabeth Greene Montague, Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard, was laid to rest with the highest of honors. Her body lay in state in a flag-draped casket at the Yard, and dignitaries from far and wide came to pay their final respects. In light of Lady Montague's extreme sacrifice, King William and his brother, HRH Prince Harry attended the funeral with their wives, and a royal decree was made by the king in Phoebe's honor. Mulder, Scully, Meena and her child attended the funeral not only as representatives of the United States and of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but out of profound sense of duty and respect. They owed their lives to this woman, they knew that, and for that they were eternally grateful.

The family Mulder walked behind Phoebe's casket as it made its way from the Yard to Westminster Abby; they followed the casket after the funeral to the final resting place; they were the last people at the gravesite. Scully watched her husband as he stood there; she didn't know what to say, she didn't know what she should say. It was their grandson that broke the silence, fussing ever so slightly as they stood by Phoebe's grave. "I think I better take him back to the car," Meena said. "Will you guys be ok?" Mulder nodded slowly. Meena turned to go, but stopped to kiss each of her parents. "I love you," she said softly before she left.

Scully stood a while at her husband's side before she spoke. "Are you alright, Mulder?" she asked as she gently touched his arm. "Yes," he nodded slowly. "Yes, I think I am." Scully paused a moment before she spoke again. 

"I should probably go.... Do you want me to leave you alone for a while?"

"No, Scully; don't leave. Please don't leave."

Scully stood beside him, and took his hand. "I'm afraid I'm not a very good person, Mulder," she said softly.

"I don't believe that, Scully."

"Well, I do. This woman gave her life for me; had it not been for her, I wouldn't be standing here with you. And yet I thought terrible things about her for so many years; I thought terrible things about her while we were under her roof. She made the ultimate sacrifice for me, for us. After all the things I thought."

Mulder gently squeezed his wife's hand. "It doesn't matter what you thought of her before," he said softly. "It's what you think of her now. And that makes all the difference."

*************************************************************************** 

It was a few days before Mulder and his family boarded the airplane for home. Scully and Mulder thought it was best that they not fly back on the same flight that carried Drew and Krycek's remains. They would see to it that the two men would get the proper burial, but they thought it would be too hard on Meena to put her on the same flight with Drew. She had so many things to work through; it was going to be hard enough as it was. Mulder and Scully also didn't tell Meena about Jeffrey Spender. It was Mulder who received word that Spender's body had not been found, although they had dragged the moat for days. He wasn't going to tell Scully, but she knew him well enough to know he was hiding something. When she finally got the news out of him, they decided it was best that Meena never know.

It had always been his job to protect his family, and now Mulder knew he could never let his guard down again.

Mulder and Scully called ahead, and asked The Lone Gunmen and everyone to give them a couple of days when they got home. Everyone did as requested, and the first visit came from Byer's wife. "You have to understand," said the former Suzanne Modeski, "it is going to take a while for the toxicity to leave her system, even with the antidote. Her memory is going to come back in bits and pieces, and not necessarily in order. I want you to also consider the possibility of adjusting the antidote so that she has no memory of what happened during her abduction and while she was gone." 

"No, Aunt Jackie," Meena said. 

Unaware that she had entered the room, everyone turned to look at her. "They're my memories; good or bad. They are a part of me; they're a part of who I am. You erase them, you erase me. I know what you're trying to do, but no. No thank you."

And so, it was a grueling six weeks. There were many sleepless nights with many nightmares and night terrors as Meena began to remember it all. Mulder and Scully watched as Meena relived the pain of her abduction from the van and her two abductions from the hospital. They held her and cried with her as she relived the death of her newborn son and his funeral. They comforted her in the night when she woke up screaming, and finally, they stood there and watched with her in joy and amazement as she looked at the face of her son.

She had a long road to travel, but at the end of six weeks, the family Mulder knew it would be alright.

***************************************************************************** 

"Plum and Tucker madness is upon us! August is here, and so are some of the best deals of the season!"

"Great; catch me next year," mumbled Mulder as he turned off the television set. He ran a finger under the scratchy color of his wool sweater. "You know, Skinner," he said as he turned to his friend and former boss, "we're just going to do this again in four months..." 

"I came all the way up here from Florida with a fake Christmas tree strapped to the roof of my car to have the Christmas I didn't have with my godchild, and by God, I'm having the Christmas with my godchild I didn't have last year - that is, if you don't mind." 

"Please, Walter; be my guest," Mulder smirked. "I'll just crank up the A/C a couple of notches. Maybe when the cold air meets the heat from the fireplace, we can have a white Christmas indoors. Either that, or a thunderstorm."

Anyone who wasn't part of the immediate Mulder family would have thought them all crazy had they stood in the living room. The house was decorated top to bottom for Christmas, complete with holly on the mantle and mistletoe in the doorways. "Care for a little holiday cheer, gentlemen?" Frohike stood in the doorway, a punchbowl full of egg nog, when Langly bumped into him. Scully saw the potential disaster as she came in from the kitchen, and made it over to Frohike just in time to prevent him and the carpet from wearing the bowl's contents. "I'll take that," Scully said as she grabbed the bowl. "As you wish," replied Frohike, "but only if I get what's coming to me." 

"If she gave you what was coming to you," Langly scoffed, "you'd be flat on your back with a black eye."

Scully knew exactly what Frohike meant, and planted a huge kiss on his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Frohike," Scully smiled. "Why don't you go look in the mirror and tell me what you think of my new lipstick...?" 

"I'm never washing my cheek again," Frohike said. 

"Like you ever did," replied Langly. 

"Uncle Langly, don't be mean to Uncle Frokee!"

All heads turned to face Meena as she stood in doorway. In her arms, she held her child; Mulder and Scully's grandchild. It was a sight many of them thought they would never see. Tears welled up in many an eye, and in Frohike's case, even went as far as to trickle down his cheek. "Great jumpin' Jehosephats!" he exclaimed. "Is that my little chickadee?" 

"Yes it is," Meena replied. "I think now is as good a time as any to meet my son, Nigel."

Skinner leaned over and whispered into Mulder's ear. "Nigel, Mulder?" 

"He's been through enough already," Mulder replied. "It's the only name he's known for over six months; we can't change his name now." Skinner sighed, "Well, I can tell I'm going to need to teach him how to fight..." 

"And I can't?' Mulder said. Skinner looked him square in the face. "Your wife punches better than you, Mulder, and she's a girl."

The doorbell gave Mulder a much needed means of escape. "I'll get it," he replied, thankful for the diversion. Mulder pulled open the door, and got the shock of his life.

"So are you going to stand there and catch flies with that open mouth, or are you going to let me in?"

"Sure, Bill," Mulder finally said. "Come on in."

Scully went out into the foyer to greet their guest, and was as shocked and amazed as Mulder to see her brother standing there. "Don't tell me he's got you speechless too, Dana?" Bill Jr. groused. "No, Bill," replied Scully. "I think you've pretty much taken care of that, Bill. Why don't you come on in?"

Scully took her big brother's arm to lead him into the living room, leaving Mulder to stare wide-eyed at the sight. "That means you too, G-man," Scully called over her shoulder. "Who the hell was it that decided we should dress for Christmas in the middle of summer?" Bill complained as he walked in, "Your's, Mulder?" Skinner took one step forward, stopping right in front of Bill Jr. "Mine," he said firmly. "You got a problem with it?"

Meena turned around to face her uncle with a large smile on her face. "Uncle Bill! You came! I was really hoping you would." 

"Why wouldn't I?" he replied. Mulder started to say something just as his wife elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey..!" he exclaimed, and Scully stared him down. "Don't start, Mulder," she cautioned him. "Just don't."

Meena handed Nigel over to her uncle. "Here's somebody I've been dying for you to meet, Uncle Bill. This is Nigel." As soon as he took Nigel in his arms, a transformation washed over Bill Scully, Jr. unlike anything any of them had seen. He cooed at the baby, talking in nonsensical gibberish that made the baby coo and smile with glee. "And whose idea was it to name you 'Nigel'?" Bill Jr. cooed? "That man my sister married?" 

Before Scully could say anything, Mulder beat her to it. "I know, Scully; don't start. Just don't."

Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully Mulder, active retired, looked around her, and smiled. At that moment, she had no worries, she had no cares. She had her daughter, she had her grandson, she had her family, and her husband loved her. And at that moment, that was all that mattered.


End file.
